





































































































































































Class 

Book 





















mm: - 
|P'' . % *• 





'H 




# * • 


I ^ 




• ■ 






> 


P V, if' 


*"i ' 






*-L, 




' 4 - 

. ■"•**.• j’’N » 

_ -■■^' ''X ^ ^ •. t’- 

(■??»!•< RaftV/:- U** <. ••'-.Htiy.; •.„'!,f, 1 »! '.■ 

'■■' sVi' -ywfe ‘ ■y '■f?v'iv'^“**' 

OJn’.J *TrJf**“ • ^ *.. I . Cl, 

C,4. jf-r.’t- / '■’ • i' Tt* 'c ^ .1 ' ' .'^•.*iB- 

' ••• - '> - : *|r ‘ ; * r/fy'. • 'v ‘ , - i Y'fw 

«<s 1 '4 * 1 . . ■ ■ '* ■ V 'a ^ 




t , 




• . 




VA’ •■ ■p*'.: . Tl V* 


iS *• * 

0 :?? 




%<» 


5 - ^ 'J • . * 1 -? • ‘ .Ml' 

’ .,■■»■" ' ■ *r 

/ -I'' -•' ■*■• 

P . , t r i- , J 

. » a. ' k.1 



»-■** ,iv 

, . y- ^ 

a.\li 




■ •Xu'}'! ri'-' ■ ’ '■-', . ■ w' ' t 

<!il|,yi *3If', . ,■'^ ‘ ■ i.'i’if'V,' ’in®? 

L> '-ff* .,: .i ..#" :»..a . 


,^•3 










•,. - ■• - i.- 


t * i. .i '- ■*'yE 






. ‘» 


»■■• •«, 


(l*/f 


r M 


cV 





, .■ ' ‘ 





l\'' 


- V . 


fc .‘ •• 


A - 




. .i 






I 
























r • 


/ 




f 


f 










> 


THE 


GILDED AGE 

A TALE OF TO-DAY 


BT 

MARK TWAIN 

(Samuel L. Clemens) 

Author of “Innocents Abroad,” “Roughino It,” eto. 

AND 

CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 

Author of “ My Summer in a Garden,” “ Back Log Studies,” etc. 


FULLY ILLUSTRATED FROM NEW DESIGNS 

BY HOPPIN, STEPHENS, WILLIAMS, WHITE, ETC., ETC. 


SOLD BY SUBSCRIPTION ONLY, 


THE AMERICAN PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

HARTFORD, CONN. 

1902. 




V 



J 


A 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in th? year 1873. by 
Samuel L. Clemens and Charles D. Warner 
In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington 


Copyright, 1901 

By Samuel L. Clemens and Susan Lee Warner 
In Renewal 





< < < 







i 


PREFACE. 


This book was not written for private circulation among 
friends; it was not written to cheer and instruct a diseased 
relative of the author’s; it was not thrown off during inter¬ 
vals of wearing labor to amuse an idle hour. It was not 
written for any of these reasons, and therefore it is submitted 
without the usual apologies. 

It will be seen that it deals with an entirely ideal state of 
society; and the chief embarrassment of the writers in this 
realm of the imagination has been the want of illustrative 
examples. In a State where there is no fever of speculation, 
no inflamed desire for sudden wealth, where the poor are all 
simple-minded and contented, and the rich are all honest and 
generous, where society is in a condition of primitive purity 
and politics is the occupation of only the capable and the 
patriotic, there are necessarily no materials for such a history 
as we have constructed out of an ideal commonwealth. 

No apology is needed for following the learned custom of 
placing attractive scraps of literature at the heads of our 
cnapters. It has been truly observed by Wagner that such 
headings, with their vague suggestions of the matter which 
is to follow them, pleasantly inflame the reader’s interest 
without wholly satisfying his curiosity, and we will hope 
that it may be found to be so in the present case. 

Our quotations are set in a vast number of tongues; this 
is done for the reason that very few foreign nations among 
whom the book will circulate can read in any language but 
their own ; whereas we do not write for a particular class or 
sect or nation, but to take in the whole world. 

We do not object to criticism; and we do not expect that 



VI 


Peeface. 


the critic will read the book before writm^ a notice of 
it. We do not even expect the reviewer of the book will 
say that he has not read it. iN’o, we have no anticipations of 
anything unusual in this age of criticism. But if the Jupiter, 
who passes his opinion on the novel, ever happens to peruse 
it in some weary moment of his subsequent life, we hope 
that he will not be the victim of a remorse bitter but too late. 

One vmrd more. This is—what it pretends to be—a joint 
production, in the conception of the story, the exposition of 
the characters, and in its literal composition. There is 
scarcely a chapter that does not bear the marks of the two 
writers of the book. s. l. c. 

0. D. w. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER L PAGE 

Squire Hawkins and His Tennessee Land—He Decides to Remoye to Missouri 17 

CHAPTER II. 

He Meets With and Adopts the Boy Clay... 81 

CHAPTER IIL 

Uncle Daniel’s Apparition and Prayer. 95 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Steamboat Explosion. .. 41 

CHAPTER V. 

Adoption of the Little Girl Laura—Arrival at Missouri—Reception by Colo» 

nel Beriah Sellers. 53 

CHAPTER VI. 

Trouble and Darkness in the Hawkins Family—Proposed Sale of the Ten- 

nessee Land. 62 

CHAPTER VII. 

Colonel Sellers at Home—His Wonderful Clock and Cure for Rheumatism.. 75 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Colonel Sellers Makes Known His Magnificent Speculation Schemes and 

Astonishes Washington Hawkins. 83 

CHAPTER IX. 

Death of Judge Hawkins. 98 

CHAPTER X. 

Laura Hawking Discovers a Mystery in Her Parentage and Grows Morbid 

Under the Village Gossip. 100 











Contents. 


viii 

CHAPTER XI. 

A Dinner with Col. Sellers—Wonderful Effects of Ra\7 Tumips. 

CHAPTER XII. 

Philip Sterling and Henry Brierly—Arrangements to Go West as ^Jnginecrs 114 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Rail-Road Contractors and Party Traveling—Philip and Harry form the 

Acquaintance of Col. Sellers.....122 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Ruth Bolton and Her Parents....132 

CHAPTER X ;. 

Visitors of the Boltons—Mr. Bigler “Sees the Legislature”—Ruth Bolton 

Commences Medical Studies... 139 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Engineers Detained at St. Louis—Off for Camp—Reception by Jeflf 
Thompson. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Engineer Corps Arrive at Stone’s Landing...169 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Laura and Her Marriage to Colonel Selby—Deserted and Returns to Hawkeye 168 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Harry Brierly Infatuated With Laura and Proposes She Visit Washington,, 177 

CHAPTER XX. 

Senator Abner Dilworthy Visits Hawkeye—Addresses the People apd Makes 

the Acquaintance of Laura. 186 

CHAPTER XXL 

Ruth Bolton at Fallkill Seminary—The Montagues—Ruth Becomes Quite 

Gay—Alice Montague. 194 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Philip and Harry Visit Fallkill—Harry Does the Agreeable to Ruth.202 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Harry at Washington Lobbying For An Appropriation For Stone’s Landing 

—Philip in New York Studying Engineering.213 

CHAPTER XXrV. 

Washington and Its Sights—The Appropriation Bill Reported From the 

Committee and Passed. 217 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Energetic Movements at Stone’s Landing—Everything Booming—A Grand 

Smash Up. 228 














Contents. 


IX 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

The Boltons—Ruth at Home—Visitors and Speculations.. 236 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Col. Sellers Comforts His Wife With His Views of the Prospects. 244 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Visit to Headquarters in Wall Street—How Appropriations Are Obtained 

and Their Cost. . 250 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Philip’s Experience With the Rail-Road Conductor—Surveys His Mining 

Property. 269 

CHAPTER XXX. 


Laura and Col. Sellers Go To Washington On Invitation of Senator Dilworthy 274 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Philip and Harry at the Boltons’—Philip Seriously Injured—Ruth’s First 


Case of Surgery.. 278 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Laura Becomes a Famous Belle at Washington. 288 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Society in Washington—The Antiques, the Parvenus, and the Middle Aris¬ 
tocracy . 295 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Grand Scheme For Disposing of the Tennessee Land—Laura and Washing¬ 
ton Hawkins Enjoying the Reputation of Being Millionaires. 814 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

About Senators—Their Privileges and Habits.32C 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

An Hour in a Book Store. 829 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

K-**presentative Buckstone and Laura’s Strategic Coquetry.335 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Reception Day in Washington—Laura Again Meets Col. Selby and the Effect 

Upon Her.840 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Col. Selby Visits Laura and Effects a Reconciliation. 349 

CHAPTER XL. 

Col. Sellers’ Career in Washington—Laura’s Intimacy With Col. Selby is 

Talked About. 366 

















X 


Contents. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

Harry Brierly Becomes Entirely Infatuated With Laura—Declares His Love 

and Gets Laughed At. 362 

CHAPTER XLII. 

How The Hon. Mr. Trollop Was Induced to Vote For Laura’s Bill.372 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

Progress of the Bill in the House... 390 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

Philip in Washington—Visits Laura.396 

CHAPTER XLV. 

The Passage of the Bill in the House of Representatives...404 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

Disappearance of Laura, and Murder of Col. Selby in New York.416 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

Laura in the Tombs and Her Visitors.426 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

Mr. Bolton Says Yes Again—Philip Returns to the Mines.434 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

The Coal Vein Found and Lost Again—Philip and the Boltons—Elated and 

Then Cruelly Disappointed.443 

CHAPTER L. 

Philip Visits Fallkill and Proposes Studying Law With Mr. Montague—The 
’Squire Invests in the Mine—Ruth Declares Her Love for Philip.463 

CHAPTER LI. 

Ool. Sellers Enlightens Washington Hawkins on the Customs of Congress.. 466 

CHAPTER LII. 

How Senator Dilworthy Advanced Washington’s Interests.473 

CHAPTER LIII. 

Senator Dilworthy Goes West to See About His Re-election—He Becomes a 

Shining Light... ..476 

CHAPTER LIV. 

The Trial of Laura for Murder.484 

CHAPTER LV. 

The Trial Continued—Evidence of Harry Brierly.494 
















Contents. 


al 

CHAPTER LVL 

The Trial Continued—Col. Sellers on the Stand and Takes Advantage of the 
Situation.... 606 

CHAPTER LVn. 

The Momentous Day—Startling News—Dilworthy Denounced as a Briber 
and Defeated—The Bill Lost in the Senate..518 

CHAPTER LYIIL 

Verdict, Not Guilty ?—Laura Free and Receives Propositions to Lecture— 
Philip back at the Mines.621 

CHAPTER LIX 

The Investigation of the Dilworthy Bribery Case and Its Results. 680 

CHAPTER LX 

Laura Decides on her Course—Attempts to Lecture and Fails—Found Dead 

in her Chair. 643 

CHAPTER LXL 

Col. Sellers and Washington Hawkins Review the Situation and Leave 

Washington.. .563 

CHAPTER LXIL 

Philip Discouraged—One More Effort—Finds Coal at Last. 660 

CHAPTER LXIIL 

Philip Leaves Hium to see Ruth—Ruth Convalescent—Alice. 667 

APPENDIX.676 














OoL. Sellers FEEMUtt His Family on Expectations.. 

/. Contemplation. 

2. The Squire’s House. 

8. The U. S. Mail. 

4. Obedstown Males. 

5. Hurrying.. 

6. The Squire’s Kitchen.. 

■ 7. “ For Goodness Sake, Si.”. 

8. The Last Cog Wheel.. 

9. Gone Up. 

10. Tailpiece. 

11. The Orphan’s Last Gift. 

12. Mrs. Hawkins and Clay at the Graye of His Mother. 

13. “Children, Dah’s Sumfin’a Comin’.”. 

14. “ Heah I is, Lord, Heah I is !”. 

15. Tail Piece. 

16. Not Encouraged. 

17. She’s Gaining. 

18. “ By the Mark Twain !”. 

19. Fast Together, (Full Page,) Face Page . 

20. One of the Victims. 

21. The Procession—Forward March !. 

22. The Happy Wife. 

23. Laura. 

24. Ready TO Sell... 

25. Stock Rising. 

26. A Family Council. 

27. Tail Piece.. 

28. Attempted Corner in Specie. 

29. A Brilliant Idea. 

30. Big Things shown up... 

81. Col. Sellers Blowing Bubbles for Washington. 

82. Gen. Boswell’s Office. 


PAGB 

.oFnosmsptBOB.... — 

. IT 

. 18 

. 19 

. 20 

. 22 

. 23 

. 24 

... 28 

. 29 

. 80 

. 83 

(Full Page,) Face Page 34 

. 86 

. 38 

. 40 

. 43 

. 45 

. 47 

. 49 

. 51 

. 58 

.. 59 

. 63 

. 65 

.. 68 

.. 72 

.. . 74 

. 77 

. 81 

. 85 

. 89 

. 91 




































Illustrations 


xm 


53. Tail Pikcb. 92 

54. Consolation. 95 

35. The Dying Father. 98 

36. Tail Piece. 99 

87. Laura Seeking for Evidences of Her Birth, (Full Page,) Face Page .101 

88. Ever True. 105 

89. A Healthy Meal. 110 

40. Philip at the Theatre. 115 

41. What Philip Learned at College. 117 

42. The Delegate’s Interesting Game. 124 

43. The Person of Importance.. 128 

44. “ Not That.”. 131 

45. Ruth’s Mother Makes Enquiries. 134 

46. The Letter. 138 

47. Caring for the Poor.142 

48. Anatomical Investigations.145 

49. Ruth Looking at the ” New One ” by Candle Light, (Full Page,) Face Page — 147 

60.“Only for You, Brierly.”. 151 

91. An Acclimated Man. 1S4 

51. No Thanks ! Good Bye ..155 

52. “Bress You, Chile, You Dar Now.” Face Page .156 

63. Camp Life, iTace Paf7C. 156 

64. Straight From the Shoulder. 157 

55. Jeff Thompson as a Nightingale.158 

56. Bound for Stone’s Landing. 161 

57. Stone’s Landing, (Full Page,) Face Page .162 

58. Waiting for a Railroad. 163 

59. “ It Ain’t There.”. 155 

60. Tail Piece. 

61. Capture of Washington.1^1 

63. Laura Swooned, (Full Page.) Face Page . 175 

62. Tail Piece. 

179 

64. Not Easily .. 

188 

66. Order, Gentlemen. . 

_ 199. 

66. The Senator’s Walk... 

196 

67. Residence of ’Squire Montague. 

197 

68. Inside the Mansion... 

.200 

69. Ruth Dissipating. 

.201 

70. Tail Piece. 

.206 

71. Anticipation. 

.206 

72. Reality. 

73. Philip Hears Harry Entertaining Ruth. 

^ 209 

74. An Entertaining Fellow. 

75. Harry Explains Before Senate Committee.21^ 

.215 

76. Philip Studying. 

77. “Keep Out of Here, Sir!”. 

218 

78. An Old One. 

219 

79. A Promenade Outfit. 

. 221 

80. Reared by a Grateful Country. 


















































xiv Illustkations. 

dl. Bbnbfit or Political iKTLirBKOx. 2 B 4 

82 . Tail Fibcb.237 

83. Visions of a Happy Man. 229 

8 i Exodus of the Natives.231 

85 Hakby Briekly Flies From the Mob. (Full Page,) Ihcs Page . 238 

86. Enjoying the Bonfire. 234 

c; Brother Plum.240 

88. Ruth at Home. (Full Page,) Face Page .241 

89. Map of the Salt Lick Branch of the Pacific R. R. Face Page .246 

90. Result of a Straight Line.248 

91. At Headquarters.261 

92. Touching a Weak Spot.258 

03 Chairman of Committee, $10,000.264 

94. Male Lobbyist, $3,000. 255 

95. Female Lobbyist, $3,000. 255 

96. High Moral Senator, $3,000. 256 

97 Country Member, $500. 256 

98 Documentary Proof. 269 

99 Colonel Sellers Despondent.262 

100 Tail Piece.263 

101 The Monarch of All He Surveys.266 

102 Philip Thrust From the R R. Car. (Full Page,) Face Page .266 

103 The Justice.268 

104 “ Mine Inn.”. 289 

105 A Pleasing Landlord.271 

106. Philip Hired Three Woodsmen.272 

107 Tail Piece.273 

108 Tail Piece.277 

109. Bro. Balaam.279 

110. The Fire Panic.286 

111. Ruth Assists in Dressing Philip’s Arm. (Full Pagb,) Face Page .287 

112. The First Reception. 291 

113. Vanity Collapsed, Tail Piece. 294 

114. The Attaches of the Antiques.297 

115 Hon. Oliver Higgins. 801 

116. Pat. O’Riley and the “ Ould Woman.”.SOS 

in. Hon. P, Oreille and Lady.. 

118. An Unmistakable Potato Mouth.306 

119. The Three Patients.. 

120. Tail Piece . 3j8 

121. Deliberate Persecution.. 

122. “ It is only me ”.. 

128. ” All Congressmen do that ”.. 

124. A Trick Worth Knowing.. 

125. Col. Sellers Enlightening The Bohemians.. 

126. Laura in the Book Store. (Full Page,) Face Page .829 

127. Very Agreeable . ggg 

128. Playing .’o Win . ... e5n 


















































IlLUSTEATIONS. XV 

129. Sh® Said ‘Paedok”.. .. 343 

130. ”lT’s He! iT’a He!”.344 

ISl. Reflection.345 

132. Once Mobe Face to Face. 350 

133. Col. Sblbt Kneels and Kisses Her Hand.352 

134. Jolly Good Company.356 

135 Supper or Breakfast ?.360 

136. Tail Piece.361 

137. A Lady-Killer Tamed.265 

138. Consuming Love.867 

139. A Convert to Women’s Rights. 870 

140. Opening Negotiations.875 

141. Not Just Yet. 380 

142. Well Posted.384 

143. Mr. Trollop Thinks It Over. 387 

144. Dilworthy Gives Laura His Blessing. (Full Page,) Face Page .339 

145. Unnecessary Precaution. 391 

146. Where the Protection is Needed.392 

147. An Object of Sympathy.393 

148. Children of Hope.398 

149. The Editor.399 

150. Philip Leaving Laura. Tail Piece.403 

151. Chairman of the Committee.405 

152. The House. 408 

153. Col. Sellers Asleep in House op Representatives. (Full Page,) Face Page ... 412 

154. A Hearty Shake.414 

155. Senator Dilworthy Tranquil. 417 

156. “ She Ain’t Dah, Sar.’”.418 

157. As THE Witnesses Described It.422 

158. The Learned Doctors.423 

139. Important Business.424 

160. Col. Sellers and Washington in Laura’s Cell. (Full Page,) Face Page .428 

161. Promised Patronage. . 43 ^ 

162. No Lo^e Like a Mother’s.482 

163. Cleaned Out But Not Crushed. 485 

164. The Landlord Taking Lessons.441 

165. Tailpiece. 442 

166. “We’ve Struck It”.444 

167. The Mine at Ilium.448 

168. The Hermit .451 

169. Tail Piece.452 

170 One Chance Open ..'.465 

171. What He Expected To Be.456 

172. Alas! Poor Alice. 459 

173. How He Was Drawn In. 460 

174. Everything.463 

175. Tailpiece.464 

176. “ Come Now, Let s Cheer Up .^ 


















































XVI 


Illustrations, 


1T7. A Shining Example .... 4f4 

178. The Sewing Society Dodge. 475 

179. Dilwoethy Addeesses a Sunday School. (Full Page.) Face Page .488 

180. Tailpiece...483 

181. The Judge.487 

182. Lauea on Tbial-..488 

183. Michael Laniqan.489 

184. Patbick Coughlin...490 

185. Ethan Dobb. 491 

186. Mb. Hicks. 492 

187. Seaech fob a Fathee.507 

188. Taking advantage of a Lull.508 

189. Teem expibed. 514 

190. Re-elected. 514 

191. The "faithful old hand”. 51S 

192. A Fibe Bband. 518 

193. Tail Piece.520 

194. Col. Sellebs and Washington Retukn Home aftee the Vote.520 

195. A Court—IN Scene.523 

196. Popular Endorsement.525 

197. One of the Insulted Members.532 

198. Touched by the Struggles of the Poor.535 

199. Mr. Noble asks Questions.535 

200. The Worn Out Style of Senator.541 

201. The Past, Present, and Future. 548 

202. The Last Link Broken. 546 

203. The Terrible Ordeal.549 

204. Retrospection. (Full Page,) FacePage .551 

205. Good Bye to Washington.554 

206. Tailpiece. 559 

207. The Parting Blast Offered. 562 

208. The Last Blast.564 

209. Struck It at Last.566 

210. The Rich Proprietor.568 

211. The Sick Chamber. (Full Page.) Face Page .570 

212. Alice. Sli 






































THE GJLDED AGE 


CHAPTER L 

Nibiwa win o-dibendan akL 


Eng. A gallant tract 
Of land it is ! 

Meercraft. ’Twill yield a pound an acre: 
We must let cheap ever at first. But, sir, 
This looks too large for you, I see. 



18—. Squire Hawkins 
sat upon the pyramid of large 
blocks, called the “stile,” in 
front of his house, contempla¬ 
ting the morning. 

The locality was Obedstown, 
East Tennessee. You would 
not know that Obedstown 
stood on the top of a mount¬ 
ain, for there was nothing 
about the landscape to indicate 
it—but it did: a mountain that 
stretched abroad over whole counties, and rose very gradually. 
The district was called the “ Knobs of East Tennessee,” and 
had a reputation like Kazareth, as far as turning out any good 
thing was concerned. 

The Squire’s house was a double log cabin, in a state of 
decay; two or three gaunt hounds lay asleep about the thresh¬ 
old, and lifted their heads sadly whenever Mrs. Hawkins or 
the children stepped in and out over their bodies. Kubbish 
was scattered about the grassless yard; a bench stood near 








18 


SQUIRE HAWKINS, 


the door with a tin wash basin on it and a pail of water and 
a gourd; a cat had begun to drink from tlie pail, but the 
exertion was overtaxing her energies, and she had stopped to 



THE squire’s house. 


rest. There was an ash-hopper by the fence, and an iron pot, 
for soft-soap-boiling, near it. 

This dwelling constituted one-fifteenth of Obedstown; the 
other fourteen houses were scattered about among the tall 
pine trees and among the corn-fields in such a way that a man 
might stand in the midst of the city and not know but that 
he was in the country if he only depended on his eyes for 
information. 

Squire ” Hawkins got his title from being postmaster of 
Obedstown—not that the title properly belonged to the office, 
but because in those regions the chief citizens always must 
have titles of some sort, and so the usual courtesy had been 
extended to Hawkins. The mail was monthly, and some¬ 
times amounted to as much as three or four letters at a single 
delivery. Even a rush like this did not fill up the postmaster’s 


















ARRIVAL OF THE MAILS. 


19 


whole month, though, and therefore he “kept store” in the 
intervals. 

The Sqnire was contemplating the morning. It was balmy 
and tranquil, the vagrant breezes were laden with the odor 
of flowers, the murmur of bees was in the air, there was 
everywhere that suggestion of repose that summer woodlands 
bring to the senses, and the vague, pleasurable melancholy 
that such a time and such surroundings inspire. 

Presently the United States mail arrived, on horseback. 
There was but one letter, and it was for the postmaster. The 



THE U. S. MAIL. 


long-legged youth who carried the mail tarried an hour to 
talk, for there was no hurry; and in a little while the male 
population of the village had assembled to help. As a general 
thing, they were dressed in homespun “ jeans,” blue or yellow— 
there were no other varieties of it; all wore one suspender and 
sometimes two—^yarn ones knitted at home,—some wore vests, 
but few wore coats. Such coats and vests as did appear, how¬ 
ever, were rather picturesque than otherwise, for they were 
made of tolerably fanciful patterns of calico —a fashion which 
prevails there to this day among those of the community who 
have tastes above the common level and are able to afford 
style. Every individual arrived with his hands in his 
pockets; a hand came out occasionally for a purpose, but it 
always went back again after service; and if it was the 


1 








20 ASSEMBLED TO TALK. 

head that was served, just the cant that the dilapidated 
straw hat got by being uplifted and rooted under, was 
retained until the next call altered the inclination; many hats 


OBEDSTOWN MALES. 

were present, but none were erect and no two were canted 
just alike. We are speaking impartially of men, youths and 
boys. And we are also speaking of these three estates when 
we say that every individual was either chewing natural leaf 
tobacco prepared on his own premises, or smoking the same 
in a corn-cob pipe. Few of the men wore whiskers; none 
wore moustaches; some had a thick jungle of hair under the 
chin and hiding the throat—the only pattern recognized there 
as being the correct thing in whiskers; but no part of any 
individual’s face had seen a razor for a week. 

These neighbors stood a few moments looking at the mail 
carrier reflectively while he talked; but fatigue soon began 
to show itself, and one after another they climbed up and 
occupied the top rail of the fence, hump-shouldered and grave, 























A TENNESSEE PIG-STYE. 


21 


like a company of buzzards assembled for supper and listenv 
ing for the death-rattle. Old Damrell said: 

‘‘ Tha liain’t no news ’bout the jedge, hit ain’t likely ? ” 

‘‘ Cain’t tell for sartin; some thinks he’s gwyne to be ’long 
toreckly, and some thinks ’e hain’t. Kuss Mosely he tole ole 
Hanks he mought git to Obeds tomorrer or nex’ day he 
reckoned.” 

“Well, I wisht I knowed. I got a prime sow and pigs in 
the cote-house, and I hain’t got no place for to put ’em. If 
the jedge is a gwyne to hold cote, I got to roust ’em out, I 
reckon. But tomorrer’ll do, I ’spect.” 

The speaker bunched his thick lips together like the stem- 
end of a tomato and shot a bumble-bee dead that liad lit on a 
weed seven feet away. One after another the several chew- 
ers expressed a charge of tobacco juice and delivered it at 
the deceased wdth steady aim and faultless accuracy. 

“What’s a stirrin’, down ’bout the Forks?” continued Old 
Damrell. 

“Well, I dnnno, skasely. Ole Drake Higgins he’s ben 
down to Shelby las’ week. Tuck his crap down ; couldn’t git 
shet o’ the most uv it; hit warn’t no time for to sell, he say, 
so he fetch it back agin, ’lowin’ to wait tell fall. Talks ’bout 
goin’ to Mozouri—lots uv ’ems talkin’ that-away down thar. 
Ole Higgins say. Cain’t make a livin’ here no mo’, sich 
times as these. Si Higgins he’s ben over to Kaintuck n’ 
married a high-toned gal thar, outen the fust families, an’ he’s 
come back to the Forks with jist a hell’s-mint o’ whoop-jam¬ 
boree notions, folks says. He’s tuck an’ fixed up the ole 
house like they does in Kaintuck, he say, an’ tha’s ben folks 
come cler from Turpentine for to see it. He’s tuck an’ 
gawmed it all over on the inside with plarsterin’.” 

“ What’s plarsterin’ ? ” 

“ I dono. Hit’s what he calls it. Ole Mam Higgins, she 
tole me. She say she warn’t gwyne to hang out in no sich a 
dern hole like a hog. Says it’s mud, or some sich kind o’ 
nastness that sticks on n’ kivers up everything. Plarsterin’, 
Si calls it.” 

This marvel was discussed at considerable length: and 


22 


THE SQUIKE DECIDES. 


almost with animation. But presently there was a dog-fight 
over in the neighborhood of the blacksmith shop, and the 
visitors slid ofi* their perch like so many turtles and strode to 



HURRYING. 


the battle-field with an interest bordering on eagerness. The 
Squire remained, and read his letter. Then he sighed, and 
sat long in meditation. At intervals he said : 

“Missouri. Missouri. Well, well, well, everything is so 
uncertain.” 

At last he said: 

“ I believe I’ll do it.—^A man will just rot, here. My house, 
my yard, everything around me, in fact, shows that I am 
becoming one of these cattle—and I used to be thrifty in 
other times.” 

He was not more than thirty-five, but he had a worn look 
that made him seem older. He left the stile, entered that 
part of his house which was the store, traded a quart of thick 
molasses for a coonskin and a cake of beeswax to an old dame 
in linsey-woolsey, put his letter away, and went into the 
kitchen. His wife was there, constructing some dried apple 
pies; a slovenly urchin of ten was dreaming over a rude 
weather-vane of his own contriving; his small sister, close 
upon four years of age, was sopping corn-bread in some gravy 
left in the bottom of a frying-pan and trying hard not to sop 










A PRIVATE CONFERENCE. 


23 


over a finger-mark that divided the pan through the middle 
—for the other side belonged to the brother, whose miisings 
made him forget his stomach for the moment; a negro 



woman was busy cooking, at a vast fire-place. Shiftlessness 
and poverty reigned in the place. 

‘‘IN'ancy, I’ve made np my mind. The world is done with 
me, and perhaps I ought to be done with it. But no matter 
—I can wait. I am going to Missouri. I won’t stay in this 
dead country and decay with it. I’ve had it on my mind 
some time. I’m going to sell out here for whatever I can get, 
and buy a wagon and team and put you and the children in 
it and start.” 

‘‘Anywhere that suits you, suits me, Si. And the chil¬ 
dren can’t be any worse ofiP in Missouri than they are here, I 
reckon.” 

Motioning his wife to a private conference in their own 
room, Hawkins said : “Ho, they’ll be better off. I’ve looked 
out for them^ Haney,” and Jiis face lighted. “Do you see 
these papers ? Weil, they are evidence that I have taken up 
Seventy-five Thousand Acres of Land in tliis county—think 
what an enormous fortune it will be some day ! Why, Haney, 
enormous don't express it—the word’s too tame 1 I tell you, 
Haney-” 

“ For goodness sake^ Si-” 



































A FORTUNE IN PROSPECTIVE. 


Nancy, wait—^let me finisli—^IVe been secretly 
boiling and fuming with this grand inspiration for weeks, and 
I must talk or I’ll burst! I haven’t whispered to a soul—not 
a word—^have had my countencmoe under lock and key, for 
fear it might drop something that would tell even these ani¬ 
mals here how to discern the gold mine that’s glaring under 
their noses. Now all that is necessary to hold this land and 
keep it in the family is to pay the trifling taxes on it yearly 
—five or ten dollars—the whole tract would not sell for over 
a third of a cent an acre now, but some day people will be 
glad to get it for twenty dollars, fifty dollars, a hundred dol- 



“for goodness sakes, si.” 


lars an acre! What should you say to ” [here he dropped 
his voice to a whisper and looked anxiously around to see 
that there were no eavesdroppers,] “ a thousand dolla/rs an 
acre! 

“Well you may open your eyes and stare! But it’s so. 
You and I may not see the day, but the'ifll see it. Mind I 


/ 
















THE WONDERFUL TENNESSEE LANDS. 


25 


tell you, they’ll see it. Nancy, you’ve heard of steamboats, 
and may be you believed in them—of course you did. You’ve 
heard these cattle here scoff at them and call them lies and 
humbugs,—but they’re not lies and humbugs, they’re a real¬ 
ity and they’re going to be a more wonderful thing some 
day than they are now. They’re going to make a revolution 
ill this world’s affairs that will make men dizzy to contem¬ 
plate. I’ve been vratching—I’ve been watching while some 
people slept, and I know wdiat’s coming. 

“Even you and I will see the day that steamboats will come 
up that little Turkey river to within twenty miles of this 
land of ours—and in high water they’ll come right it! 
And this is not all, Nancy—it isn’t even half! There’s a 
bigger wonder—the railroad 1 These worms here have never 
even heard of it—and when they do they’ll not believe in it. 
But it’s another fact. Coaches that fly over the ground 
twenty miles an hour—heavens and earth, think of that, 
Nancy! Twenty miles an hour. It makes a man’s brain 
whirl. Some day, when you and I are in our graves, there’ll 
be a railroad stretching hundreds of miles—all the way down 
from the cities of the Northern States to New Orleans—and 
its got to run within thirty miles of this land—may be even 
touch a corner of it. Well, do you know, they’ve quit burn¬ 
ing wood in some places in the Eastern States ? And what 
do you suppose they burn ? Coal 1 ” [He bent over and 
whispered again:] “ There^s whole worlds of it on this land ! 

You know that black stuiff that crops out of the bank of the 
branch ?—well, that’s it. You’ve taken it for rocks; so has 
every body here; and they’ve built little dams and such 
things with it. One man was going to build a chimney out of it. 
Nancy I expect I turned as white as a sheet! Why, it might have 
caught fire and told everything. I showed him it was too 
crumbly. Then he was going to build it of copper ore— 
splendid yellow forty-per-cent, ore! There’s fortunes upon 
fortunes of copper ore on our land! It scared me to death, 
the idea of this fool starting a smelting furnace in his house 


26 


WE WILL GO TO MISSOUEL 


without knowing it, and getting his dull eyes opened. And 
then he was going to build it of iron ore! There’s mountains 
of iron ore here, Nancy—whole mountains of it. 1 wouldn’t 
take any chances. I just stuck by him—I haunted him—I 
never let him alone till he built it of mud and sticks like all 
the rest of the chimneys in this dismal country. Pine forests, 
wheat land, corn land, iron, copper, coal—wait till the rail¬ 
roads come, and the steamboats ! TF^’ZZ never see the day, 
Nancy—never in the world—never, never, never, child. 
We’ve got to drag along, drag along, and eat crusts in toil 
and poverty, all hopeless and forlorn—^but theifll ride in 
coaches, Nancy ! They’ll live like the princes of the earth ; 
they’ll be courted and worshiped; their names will be 
known from ocean to ocean ! Ah, well-a-day! Will they 
ever come back here, on tlie railroad and the steamboat, and 
say ‘ This one little spot shall not be touched—this hovel 
shall be sacred—^for here our father and our mother suflered 
for us, thought for us, laid the foundations of our future as 
solid as the hills ! ’ ” 

“You are a great, good, noble soul, Si Hawkins, and I am 
an honored woman to be the wife of such a man ”—and the 
tears stood in her eyes when she said it. “We will go to 
Missouri. Yon are out of your place, here, among these 
groping dumb creatures. We will find a higher place, where 
you can walk with your own kind, and be understood when 
you speak—not stared at as if you were talking some foreign 
tongue. I would go anywhere, anywhere in the wide world 
with you. I Avould rather my body should starve and die 
than your mind should hunger and wither away in this lonely 
land.” 

“ Spoken like yourself, my child! But we’ll not starve, 
Nancy. Far from it. I have a letter from Beriah Sellers 
—just came this day. A letter that—I’ll read you a line 
from it! ” 

He flew out of the room. A shadow blurred the sunlight 
in Nancy’s face—there was uneasiness in it, and disappoint' 


REMINISCENCES OE BERIAH SELLERS. 


27 


ment. A procession of disturbing thoughts began to troop 
through her mind. Saying nothing aloud, she sat with her 
hands in her lap ; now and then she clasped them, then un¬ 
clasped them, then tapped the ends of the fingers together; 
sighed, nodded, smiled—occasionally paused, shook her head. 
This pantomime was the elocutionary expression of an un¬ 
spoken soliloquy which had something of this shape: 

‘‘ I was afraid of it—was afraid of it. Trying to make 
our fortune in Virginia, Beriah Sellers nearly ruined us— 
and we had to settle in Kentucky and start over again. 
Trying to make our fortune in Kentucky he crippled us 
again and we had to move here. Trying to make our fortune 
here, he brought us clear down to the ground, nearly. He’s 
an honest soul, and means the very best in the world, but 
I’m afraid, I’m afraid he’s too fiighty. He has splendid 
ideas, and he’ll divide his chances with his friends with a free 
hand, the good generous soul, but something does seem to 
always interfere and spoil everything. I never did think he 
was right well balanced. But I don’t blame my husband, 
for I do think that when that man gets his head full of a new 
notion, he can out-talk a machine. He’ll make anybody be¬ 
lieve in that notion that’ll listen to him ten minutes—why I 
do believe he would make a deaf and dumb man believe in 
it and get beside himself, if you only set him where he could 
see his eyes talk and watch his hands explain. What a head 
he has got! When he got up that idea there in Virginia of 
buying up whole loads of negroes in Delaware and Virginia 
and Tennessee, very quiet, having papers drawn to have them 
delivered at a place in Alabama and take them and pay for 
them, away yonder at a certain time, and then in the mean¬ 
time get a law made stopping everybody from selling negroes 
to the south after a certain day—it was somehow that way— 
mercy how the man would have made money! Kegroes 
would have gone up to four prices. But after he’d spent 
money and worked hard, and traveled hard, and had heaps 
of negroes all contracted for, and everything going along 


28 


FOKTUNES LOST. 


just right, he couldn’t get the laws passed and down the 
whole thing tumbled. And there in Kentucky, when he 
raked up that old numskull that had been inventing away at 
a perpetual motion machine for twenty-two years, and Beriah 
Sellers saw at a glance where just one more little cog-wheel 
would settle the business, why I could see it as plain as day 
when he came in wild at midnight and hammered us out of 
bed and told the whole thing in a whisper with the doors 



bolted and the candle in an empty barrel. Oceans of money 
in it—anybody could see that. But it did cost a deal to buy 
the old numskull out—^and then when they put the new cog^ 
wheel in they’d overlooked something somewhere and it 
wasn’t any use—the troublesome thing wouldn’t go. That 
notion he got up here did look as handy as anything in the 
world ; and how him and Si did sit up nights working at it 
with the curtains down and me watching to see if any neigh¬ 
bors were about. The man did honestly believe there was 
a fortune in that black gummy oil that stews out of the bank 
Si says is coal; and he refined it himself till it was like 
water, nearly, and it did burn, there’s no two ways about 
that; and I reckon he’d have been all right in Cincinnati 
with his lamp that he got made, that time he got a house full 
of rich speculators to see him exhibit only in the middle of 

























A MODEL LETTER. 


29 


his speech it let go and almost blew the heads off the whole 
crowd. I haven’t got over grieving for the money that cost, 



GONE UP. 


yet. I am sorry enough Beriah Sellers is in Missouri, now, 
but I was glad when he went. I wonder what his letter 
says. But of course it’s cheerful; he's never down-hearted 
—never had any trouble in his life—didn’t know it if he had. 
It’s alwaj^s sunrise with that man, and fine and blazing, at 
that—never gets noon, though—leaves oft* and rises again. 
Nobody can help liking the creature, he means so well—but 
I do dread to come across him again; he’s bound to set us 
all crazy, of course. Well, there goes old widow Hopkins— 
it always takes her a week to buy a spool of thread and trade 
a hank of yarn. Maybe Si can come with the letter, now.” 

And he did: 

“Widow Hopkins kept me—I haven’t any patience with 
such tedious people. Now listen, Nancy—^just listen at 
this: 

** * Come right along to Missouri! Don’t wait and worry about a good price 
but sell out for whatever you can get, and come along, or you might be too late. 
Throw away your traps, if necessary, and come empty-handed. You’ll never 
regret it. It’s the grandest country—the loveliest land—the purest atmosphere 
—I can’t describe it; no pen can do it justice. And it’s filling up, every day— 
people coming from everywhere. I’ve got the biggest scheme on earth—and I’ll 
take you in; I’ll take in every friend I’ve got that’s ever stood by me, for there’8 









30 


OFF FOR MISSOURI. 


enough for all, and to spare. Mum’s the word—don’t whisper—keep yourself 
to yourself. You’ll see ! Come !—rush !—hurry !—don’t wait for anything! ’ 

“ It’s the same old boj, bTancy, just the same old boy— 
ain’t he ? ” 

“Yes, I think there’s a little of the old sound about his 
voice yet. I suppose you—you’ll still go, Si? ” 

“Go! Well, I should think so, Nancy. It’s all a chance, 
of course, and chances haven’t been kind to us. I’ll admit— 
but whatever comes, old wife, they’m provided for. Thank 
God for that! ” 

“ Amen,” came low and earnestly. 

And with an activity and a suddenness that bewildered 
Obedstown and almost took its breath away, the Hawkinses 
hurried through with their arrangements in four short months 
and flitted out into the great mysterious blank that lay 
beyond the Knobs of Tennessee. 



CHAPTER n. 

:>vA: KAPcro-: OhA-K? 

^rl^O'^g)o^: AX:X^= J':a)<5-I+-^ : (DR^'^IA : 
(DJ&4i^:&g>o^ : Tltro : (I>-A'K0 t>- : (DAJ^’4. E :: 


T oward the dose of the third day’s journey the wayfarers 
were just beginning to think of camping,when they came 
upon a log cabin in the woods. Hawkins drew rein and entered 
the yard. A boy about ten years old was sitting in the cabin 
door with his face bowed in his hands. Hawkins approached, 
expecting his footfall to attract attention, but it did not. 
He halted a moment, and then said: 

“ Come, come, little chap, you mustn’t be going to sleep 
before sundown.” 

With a tired expression the small face came up out of the 
hands,— a face down which tears were flowing. 

“ Ah, I’m sorry I spoke so, my boy. Tell me—is anything 
the matter? ” 

The boy signified with a scarcely perceptible gesture that 
the trouble was in the house, and made room for Hawkins to 
pass. Then he put his face in his hands again and rocked 
himself about as one suffering a grief that is too deep to find 
help in moan or groan or outcry. Hawkins stepped within. It 
was a poverty stricken place. Six or eight middle-aged coun¬ 
try people of both sexes were grouped about an object in the 
middle of the room; they were noiselessly busy and they 
talked in whispers when they spoke. Hawkins uncovered 
and approached. A coflSn stood upon two backless chairs. 
These neighbors had just finished disposing the body of a 
woman in it—a woman with a careworn, gentle face that had 
more the look of sleep about it than of death. An old lady 
motioned toward the door and said to Hawkins in a whisper; 

3i 


32 


THE DEAD MOTHER. 


‘‘His motlier, po’ tiling. Died of tlie fever, last night. 
Tha warn’t no sich thing as saving of her. But it’s better 
for her—better for her. Husband and the other two children 
died in the spring, and she hain’t ever hilt up her head sence. 
She jest w'-ent around broken-hearted like, and never took no in¬ 
trust in anything but Clay—that’s the boy thar. She jest wor¬ 
shiped Clay—and Clay he worshiped her. They didn’t ’pear 
to live at all, only when they was together, looking at each 
other, loving one another. She’s ben sick three weeks; and 
if you believe me that child has worked, and kep’ the run of 
the med’cin, and the times of giving it, and sot up nights and 
nussed her, and tried to keep up her sperits, the same as a 
grown-up person. And last night when she kep’ a sinking 
and sinking, and turned away her head and didn’t know him 
no mo’, it was fitten to make a body’s heart break to see him 
climb onto the bed and lay his cheek agin hern and call her 
so pitiful and she not answer. But bymeby she roused up, 
like, and looked around wild, and then she see him, and she 
made a great cry and snatched him to her breast and hilt him 
close and kissed him over and over agin; but it took the last 
po’ strength she had, and so her eyelids begin to close down, 
and her arms sort o’ drooped away and then we see she was 
gone, po’ creetur. And Clay, he—Oh, the po’ motherless 
thing—I cain’t talk about it—I cain’t bear to talk about it.” 

Clay had disappeared from the door; but he came in, now, 
and the neighbors reverently fell apart and made way for him. 
Pie leaned upon the open coffin and let his tears course silently. 
Then he put out his small hand and smoothed the hair and 
stroked the dead face lovingly. After a bit he brought his 
other hand up from behind him and laid three or four fresh 
wild flowers upon the breast, bent over and kissed the unre¬ 
sponsive lips time and time again, and then turned away and 
went out of the house without looking at any of the company. 
The old lady said to Hawkins: 

She always loved that kind o’ flowers. He fetched ’em 
for her every morning, and she always kissed him. They was 
from away north somers—she kep’ school when she fust come. 
Goodness knows what’s to become o’ that po’ boy. Ho father, 


CASTING BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 


33 



no mother, no kin folks of no kind. Nobody to go to, nobody 


THE orphan’s last GIFT. 

that k’yers for him—and all of us is so put to it for to get 
along and families so large.” 

Hawkins understood. All eyes were turned inquiringly 
upon him. He said: 

“Friends, I am not very well provided for, myself, but 
still I would not turn my back on a homeless orphan. If he 
will go with me I will give him a home, and loving regard— 
I will do for him as I would have another do for a child of 
my own in misfortune.” 

One after another the people stepped forward and wrung 
the stranger’s hand with cordial good will, and their eyes 
looked all that their hands could not express or their lips 
speak. 

“ Said like a true man,” said one. 

“You was a stranger to me a minute ago, but you ain’t 
now,” said another. 

“ It’s bread cast upon the waters—it’ll return after many 
days,” said the old lady wFom we have heard speak before. 























































34 


THE NEW MOTHER. 


“You got to camp in my house as long as you hang out 
here,” said one. “ If tha liain’t room for you and yoiirn my 
tribe’ll turn out and camp in the hay loft.” 

A few minutes afterward, while the preparations for the 
funeral were being concluded, Mr. Ilawldns arrived at his 
wagon leading his little waif by the hand, and told his wife 
all that had happened, and asked lier if he had done right in 
ffivinff to her and to himself this new care? She said : 

O 

“If you’ve done wrong. Si Hawkins, it’s a wrong that will 
shine brighter at the judgment day than the rights that many 
a man has done before you. And there isn’t any compliment 
you can pay me equal to doing a thing like this and finishing 
it up, just taking it for granted that I’ll be willing to it. 
Willing? Come to me, you poor motherless boy, and let me 
take your grief and help you carry it.” 

When the child awoke in the morning, it was as if from a 
troubled dream. But slowly the confusion in his mind took 
form, and he remembered his great loss; the beloved form 
in the coffin; Ins talk with a generous stranger who offered 
him a home; the funeral, where the stranger’s wife held him 
by the hand at the grave, and cried with him and comforted 
him; and he remembered how this new mother tucked him 
in his bed in the neighboring farm house, and coaxed him to 
talk about his troubles, and then heard him say his prayers 
and kissed him good night, and left him with the soreness in 
his heart almost healed and his bruised spirit at rest. 

And now the new mother came again, and helped him to 
dress, and combed his hair, and di-ew his mind away by 
degrees from the dismal yesterday, by telling him about the 
wonderful journey he was going to take and the strange things 
he was going to see. And after breakfast they two went 
alone to the grave, and his heart went out to his new friend 
and his untaught eloquence poured the praises of his buried 
idol into her ears without let or hindrance. Together they 
planted roses by the headboard and strewed wild flowers upon 
the grave; and then together they went away, hand in hand, 
and left the dead to the long sleep that heals all heart-aches 
and ends all sorrows. 




MRS. HAWKINS AND CLAY AT THE GRAVE OF HiS MOTHER. 










































































































































































































CHAPTER III. 


—Babillebalou ! (disoit-il) void pis qu’antan. Fuyons! C’est, par la mort 
boeuf! Leviathan, descript par le noble prophete Mosis en la vie du sainci 

home Job. II nous avallera tons,* comrae pilules.Voy le cy. O 

que tu es horrible et abhominable ! . , . . IIo ho! Liable, Satanas, Levia¬ 

than ! Je ne te peux veoir, tant tu es ideux et detestable. 

W IIATEYER the lagging dragging journey may have 
been to the rest of the emigrants, it was a wonder and 
delight to the children, a world of enchantment; and they 
believed it to be peopled with the mysterious dwarfs and 
giants and goblins that tigiired in the tales the negro slaves 
were in the habit of telling them nightly by the shuddering 
light of the kitchen fire. 

At the end of nearly a week of travel, the party went into 
camp near a shabby village which was caving, house by house, 
into the hungry Mississippi. The river astonished the chil¬ 
dren beyond measure. Its mile-breadth of water seemed an 
ocean to them, in the shadowy twilight, and the vague riband 
of trees on the further shore, the verge of a continent which 
surely none but they had ever seen before. 

“ Uncle Dan’l ” (colored,) aged 40; his wife, ‘‘ aunt Jinny,” 
aged 30, “Young Miss” Emily Hawkins, “Young Mars” 
Washington Hawkins and “Young Mars” Clay, the new 
member of the family, ranged themselves on a log, after sup¬ 
per, and contemplated the marvelous river and discussed it. 
The moon rose and sailed aloft through a maze of shredded 
cloud-wreaths ; the sombre river just perceptibly brightened 
under the veiled light; a deep silence pervaded the air and 
was emphasized, at intervals, rather than broken, by the hoot¬ 
ing of an owl, the baying of a dog, or the muffled crash of a 
caving bank in the distance. 

The little company assembled on the log were all children, 

35 



UNCLE DANIEL’S APPAKITION. 


3G 

(at least in simplicity and broad and comprehensive ignorance,) 
and the remarks they made about the river were in keeping 
with the character; and so awed were they by the grandeur 
and the solemnity of the scene before them, and by their 
belief that the air was filled with invisible spirits and that the 
faint zephyrs were caused by their passing wings, that all 
their talk took to itself a tinge of the supernatural, and their 
voices were subdued to a low and reverent tone. Suddenly 
Uncle Dan’l exclaimed: 

“ Chiren, dab’s sum fin a comin! ” 

All crowded close together and every heart beat faster. 



“children dah’s sumfjn’ a comjn’I” 


Uncle Dan’l pointed down the river with his bony finger. 

A deep coughing sound troubled the stillness, way toward 
a wooded cape that jutted into the stream a mile distant. 
All in an instant a fierce eye of fire shot out from behind the 
cape and sent a long brilliant pathway quivering athwart the 
dusky water. The coughing grew louder and louder, the 
glaring eye grew larger and still larger, glared wilder and 








A MODEL PRAYER. 


37 


still wilder. A huge shape developed itself out of the 
gloom, and from its tall duplicate horns dense volumes of 
smoke, starred and spangled with sparks, poured out and 
went tumbling away into the farther darkness. Nearer and 
nearer the thing came, till its long sides began to glow with 
spots of light which mirrored themselves in the river and 
attended the monster like a torchlight procession. 

“What is it! Oh, what is it. Uncle Dand!” 

With deep solemnity the answer came: 

“ It’s de Almighty ! Git down on yo’ knees! ” 

It was not necessary to say it twice. They were all kneel¬ 
ing, in a moment. And then while the mysterious coughing 
rose stronger and stronger and the threatening glare reached 
farther and Avider, the negro’s voice lifted up its supplica¬ 
tions ; 

“ O Lord, we’s ben mighty wicked, an’ we knows dat we 
’zerve to go to de bad place, but good Lord, deah Lord, we 
ain’t ready yit, we ain’t ready—let dese po’ chil’en hab one 
mo’ chance, jes’ one mo’ chance. Takede oleniggah if you’s 
got to hab somebody.—Good Lord, good deah Lord, we don’t 
know whah you’s a gwyne to, we don’t know who you’s got 
yo’ eye on, but we knows by de way you’s a cornin’, we 
knows by de way you’s a tiltin’ along in yo’ charyot o’ fiah 
dat some po’ sinner’s a gwyne to ketch it. But good Lord, 
dese chil’en don’t b’long heah, dey’s f’m Obedstown whah dey 
don’t know nuffin, an’ you knows, yo’ own sef, dat dey ain’t 
’sponsible. An’ deah Lord, good Lord, it ain’t like yo’ 
mercy, it ain’t like yo’ pity, it ain’t like yo’ long-sufferin’ 
lovin’-kindness for to take dis kind o’ ’vantage o’ sich little 
chil’en as dese is when dey’s so many ornery grown folks 
chuck full o’ cussedness dat wants roastin’ down dah. Oh, 
Lord, spall de little chil’en, don’t tar de little chil’en away 
f’m dey frens, jes’ let ’em off jes’ dis once, and take it out’n 
de ole niggah. Heah I is, Lord, heah I is! De ole nig- 

gah’s ready, Lord, de ole-” 

The flaming and churning steamer was right abreast the 
party, and not twenty steps away. The awful thunder of a 



38 


THE EFFICIENCY OF PRAYER. 


mud-valve suddenly burst forth, drowning the prayer, and 
as suddenly Uncle Dan’l snatched a child under each arm 



“HEAH I IS, LORD, HEAH I IS! ” 


and scoured into the woods with the rest of the pack at his 
heels. And then, ashamed of himself, he halted in the deep 
darkness and shouted, (but rather feebly:) 

Heah I is. Lord, heah I is! ” 

There was a moment of throbbing suspense, and then, to 
the surprise and the comfort of the party, it was plain that 
the august presence had gone by, for its dreadful noises were 
receding. Uncle Dan’l headed a cautious reconnoissance in 
the direction of the log. Sure enough ‘Dhe Lord” was 
just turning a point a short distance up the river, and wdiile 
they looked the lights winked out and the coughing dimin 
ished by degrees and presently ceased altogether. 

‘‘IIVsli! Well now dey’s some folks says dey ain’t no 
’ficiency in prah. Dis chile would like to know whah we’d 
a ben now if it warn’t fo’ dat prah % Dat’s it. Dat’s it! 
















UNCLE DANIEL APPEALS TO THE BIBLE. 


39 


“Uncle Dan’l, do you reckon it was tlie prayer that saved 
as ? ” said Clay. 

“ Does I reckon? Don’t I know it! Whah was yo’ eyes? 
Warn’t de Lord jes’ a cornin’ chow! chow ! chow ! an’ a 
goin’ on turrible—an’ do de Lord carry on dat way ’dout 
dey’s snmfin don’t suit him ? An’ warn’t he a lookin’ right at 
dis gang heah, an’ warn’t he jes’ a reachin’ for ’em ? An’ 
d’you spec’ he gwyne to let ’em off ’dout somebody ast him 
to do it ? ISTo indeedy 1 ” 

“ Do you reckon he saw us, Uncle Dan’l ? ” 

“De law sakes, chile, didn’t I see him a lookin’ at us?” 

“ Did you feel scared, Uncle Dan’l ? ” 

“ No sail! When a man is ’gaged in prah, he ain’t fraid 
o’ nuffin—dey can’t nuffin tetch him.” 

“ Well what did you run for ? ” , 

“Well, I—I—mars Clay, when a man is under de influ¬ 
ence ob de sperit, he do-no what he’s ’bout—no sah; dat man 
do-no what he’s ’bout. You mout take an’ tah de head ofl’n 
dat man an’ he wouldn’t scasely fine it out. Dah’s de Hebrew 
chil’en dat went frough de fiah; dey was burnt considable— 
ob coase dey was; but dey didn’t know nufiin ’bout it—heal 
right up agin ; if dey’d ben gals dey’d missed dey long haah, 
(hair,) maybe, but dey wouldn’t felt de burn.” 

“ I don’t know but what they were girls. I think they 
were.” 

“How mars Clay, you knows bettern dat. Sometimes a 
body can’t tell whedder you’s a sayin’ what you means or 
whedder you’s a sayin’ what you don’t mean, ’case you says 
’em bofe de same way.” 

“But how should 1 know whether they were boys or 
girls?” 

“ Goodness sakes, mars Clay, don’t de Good Book say ? 
’Sides, don’t it call ’em de A^-brew chil’en ? If dey was gals 
wouldn’t dey be de she-brew chil’en ? Some people dat kin 
read don’t ’pear to take no notice when dey do read.” 

“Well, Uncle Dan’l, I think that- My ! here comes 

another one up the river! There can’t be two ! ” 



40 


GONE EIS TIME, 


“We gone dis time—we done gone dis time, slio’! Dey ain’t 
two, mars Clay—dat’s de same one. De Lord kin ’pear 
ebery whali in a second. Goodness, how de liali and de smoke 
do belch np ! Dat mean business, honey. He cornin’ now 
like he fo’got siimfin. Come ’long, chil’en, timeyou’sgwyne 
to roos’. Go ’long wid you—ole Uncle Daniel gwyne out in 
de woods to rastle in prah—de ole nigger gwyne to do what 
he kin to sabe you agin.” 

He did go to the woods and pray; but he went so far that 
he doubted, himself, if the Lord heard him when He went 













CHAPTER IV. 


•—Seventhly, Before his Voyage, He should make his peace with God, satisfie 
his Creditors if he be in debt; Pray earnestly to God to prosper him in his 
Voyage, and to keep him from danger, and, if he be sui ju7'is, he should make 
his last will, and wisely order all his affairs, since many that go far abroad, 
return not home. (This good and Christian Counsel is given by Martirms ZeiU 
erus in his Apodemical Canons before his Itinerary of Spain and Portugal.) 

E AKLY in the morning Squire Hawkins took passage in a 
small steamboat, with his family and his two slaves, and 
presently the bell rang, the stage-plank was hauled in, and 
the vessel proceeded up the river. The children and the 
slaves were not much more at ease after finding out that 
this monster was a creature of human contrivance than they 
were the night before when they thought it the Lord of 
heaven and earth. They started, in fright, eveiy time the 
gauge-cocks sent out an angry hiss, and they quaked from 
head to foot when the mud-valves thundered. The shiver¬ 
ing of the boat under the beating of the wheels was sheer 
misery to tliem. 

But of course familiarity with these things soon took away 
their terrors, and then the voyage at once became a glorious 
adventure, a royal progress through the very heart and home 
of romance, a realization of their rosiest wonder-dreams. 
They sat by the hour in the shade of the pilot house on the 
hurricane deck and looked out over the curving expanses of 
the river sparkling in the sunlight. Sometimes the boat 
fought the mid-stream current, with a verdant world on either 
hand, and remote from both; sometimes she closed in under 
a point, where the dead water and the helping eddies were, 
and shaved the bank so closely that the decks were swept by 
the jungle of over-hanging willows and littered with a spoil 
of leaves; departing from these ‘‘points” she regularly 
crossed the river every five miles, avoiding the “bight” of 
the great bends and thus escaping the strong current; some- 

41 


42 


ON THE MISSISSIPPI. 


times she went out and skirted a liigli “bluff’’ sand-bar in the 
laiddle of the stream, and occasionally followed it up a little 
too far and toiiclied upon tlie sboal water at its head—and 
then the intelligent craft refused to run herself aground, but 
“smelt” the bar, and straightway the foamy streak that 
streamed away from her bows vanished, a great foamless 
wave rolled forward and passed her under way, and in this 
instant she leaned far over on her side, shied from the bar 
and fled square away from the danger like a frightened thing 
—and the pilot was lucky if he managed to “ straighten her 
up ” before she drove her nose into the opposite bank ; some¬ 
times she approached a solid wall of tall trees as if she meant 
to break through it, but all of a sudden a little crack would 
open just enough to admit her, and away she would go plow¬ 
ing through the “chute” with just barely room enough 
between the island on one side and the main land on the 
other; in this sluggish water she seemed to go like a race¬ 
horse ; now and then small log cabins appeared in little clear¬ 
ings, with the never-failing frowsy women and girls in soiled 
and faded linsey-woolsey leaning in the doors or against wood- 
piles and rail fences, gazing sleepily at the passing show; 
sometimes she found shoal water, going out at the head of 
those “ chutes ” or crossing the river, and then a deck-hand 
stood on the bow and hove the lead, while the boat slowed 
down and moved cautiously ; sometimes she stopped a moment 
at a landing and took on some freight or a passenger while a 
crowd of slouchy white men and negroes stood on the bank 
and looked sleepily on with their hands in their pantaloons 
pockets,—of course—for they never took them out except to 
stretch, and when they did this they squirmed about and 
reached their flsts up into the air and lifted themselves on 
tip-toe in an ecstasy of enjoyment. 

When the sun went down it turned all the broad river to a 
national banner laid in gleaming bars of gold and purple and 
crimson; and in time these glories faded out in the twilight 
and left the fairy archipelagoes reflecting their fringing foli¬ 
age in the steely mirror of the stream. 


STEAMBOAT AMUSEMENTS. 


43 


At night the boat forged on through the deep solitudes of 
the river, hardly ever discovering a light to testify to a 
human presence—mile after mile and league after league the 
vast bends were guarded by unbroken walls of forest that 
had never been disturbed by the voice or the foot-fall of a 
man or felt the edge of his sacrilegious axe. 

An hour after supper the moon came up, and Glay and 
"Washington ascended to the hurricane deck to revel again in 
their new realm of enchantment. They ran races up and 
down the deck; climbed about the bell; made friends with 
the passenger-dogs chained under the life-boat; tried to make 



NOT ENCOURAGED. 


friends with a passenger-bear fastened to the verg^-staff but 
were not encouraged; ‘‘skinned the cat” on the hog-chains; 
in a word, exhausted the amusement-possibilities of the deck. 
Then they looked wistfully up at the pilot house, and finally, 
little by little. Clay ventured up there, followed diffidently 
by Washington. The pilot turned presently to “get his 
stern-marks,” saw the lads and invited them in. Now their 
happiness was complete. This cosy little house, built entirely 
of glass and commanding a marvelous prospect in every 
direction was a magician’s throne to them and their enjoy¬ 
ment of the place was simply boundless. 

They sat them down on a high bench and looked miles 
ahead and saw the wooded capes fold back and reveal the 
bends beyond; and they looked miles to the rear and saw 




















44 


THE AMARANTH’S COMING I 


the silvery highway diminish its breadth b}'' degrees and close 
itself together in the distance. Presently the pilot said: 

By George, yonder comes the Amaranth! ” 

A spark appeared, close to the water, several miles down 
the river. The pilot took his glass and looked at it steadily 
for a moment, and said, chiefly to himself: 

It can’t be the Bine Wing. She couldn’t pick us up this 
way. It’s the Amaranth, sure.” 

He bent over a speaking-tube and said: 

Who’s on watcL down there ? ” 

A hollow, nnhuman voice rumbled up through the tube 
in answer: 

“ Aam. Second engineer.” 

“ Good! Yon want to stir your stumps, now, Harry—the 
Amaranth’s fust turned the point—and she’s iust a-humpine: 
herself, too!” 

The pilot took hold of a rope that stretched out forward, 
jerked it twice, and two mellow strokes of the big bell 
responded. A voice out on the deck shouted: 

Stand by, down there, with that labboard lead! ” 

“Ho, I don’t want the lead,” said the pilot, “I want you. 
Eoust out the old man—tell him the Amaranth’s coming. 
And go and call Jim—tell 

“Aye-aye, sir!” 

The “ old man ” was the captain—he is always called so, 
on steamboats and ships; “Jim” was the other pilot. With¬ 
in two minutes both of these men were flying up the pilot¬ 
house stairway, three steps at a jump. Jim was in his shirt¬ 
sleeves, with his coat and vest on his arm. He said: 

“I was just turning in. W1 are’s the glass?” 

He took it and looked: 

“Don’t appear to be any night-hawk on the jack-staff—it’s 
the Amaranth, dead sure!” 

The captain took a good long look, and only said: 

“ Damnation! ” 

George Davis, the pilot on watch, shouted to the night- 

watchman on deck: 

u TTr^.v’s she loaded?” 


ALL HANDS AHOY! LIVELY NOW. 


45 


“ Two inches bj the head, sir.” 

“ ’T ain’t enough! ” 

The captain shouted, now: 

“ Call the mate. Tell him to call all hands and get a lot 
of that sugar forrard—put her teii inches by the head. Lively, 
now! ” 

“ Aye-aye, sir! ” 

A riot of shouting and trampling floated up from below, 
presently, and the uneasy steering of the boat soon showed 
that she was getting “ down by the head.” 

The three men in the pilot house began to talk in short, 



she’s gaining. 


sharp sentences, low and earnestly. As their excitement 
rose, their voices went down. As fast as one of them put 
down the spy-glass another took it up—but always with a 
studied air of calmness. Each time the verdict was: 

“ She’s a gaining!” 

The captain spoke through the tube: 

“What steam are you carrying?” 

“ A hundred and forty-two, sir ! But she’s getting hotter 
and hotter all the time.” 

The boat was straining and groaning and quivering like a 
monster in pain. Both pilots were at work now, one on each 
side of the Avheel, with their coats and vests off, their bosoms 
and collars wide open and the perspiration flowing down their 
faces. They were holding the boat so close to the shore that 




















46 


MURDERER’S CHUTE. 


the willows swept the guards almost from stem to stern, 
“Stand hj ! ” whispered George. 

“ All ready! ” said Jim, under his breath. 

“ Let her come ! ” 

The boat sprang away from the bank like a deer, and 
darted in a long diagonal toward the other shore. She closed 
in again and thrashed her fierce way along the willows as 
before. The captain put down the glass: 

“ Lord how she walks up on us I I do hate to be beat I ’’ 

“ Jim,’’ said George, looking straight ahead, watching the 
slightest yawing of the boat and promptly meeting it with 
the wheel, “ how’ll it do to try Murderer’s Chute ? ” 

“Well, it’s—it’s taking chances. How w^as the cotton¬ 
wood stump on the false point below Boardman’s Island this 
morning?” 

“Water just touching the roots.’’ 

“ Well it’s pretty close work. That gives six feet scant in 
the head of Murderer’s Chute. We can just barely rub 
through if we hit it exactly right. But it’s worth trying. 
JShe don’t dare tackle it! ”—meaning the Amaranth. 

In another instant the Boreas plunged into what seemed a 
crooked creek, and the Amaranth’s approaching lights were 
shut out in a moment. Hot a whisper was uttered, now, but 
the three men stared ahead into the shadows and two of them 
spun the wheel back and forth with anxious watchfulness 
while the steamer tore along. The chute seemed to come to 
an end every fifty yards, but always opened out in time. 
How the head of it was at hand. George tapped the big bell 
three times, two leadsmen sprang to their posts, and in a 
moment their weird cries rose on the night air and were 
caught up and repeated by two men on the upper deck: 
“Ho-o bottom I ” 

“De-e-p four! ” 

“ Half three 1 ” 

“ Quarter three ! ” 

“Mark under wa-a-ter three!” 

^ Half twain! ” 

^ Quarter twain !- 



SnOALING FAST. 


47 


Davis pulled a couple of ropes—there was a jingling of 
email bells far below, the boat’s speed slackened, and the pent 
steam began to whistle and the gauge-cocks to scream: 
“ By the mark twain! ” 

“ Quar - ter - her - er - less 
twain! ” 

“ Eight and a half! ” 

Eight feet 1 ” 

Seven-ana-half 1- 

Another jingling of lit¬ 
tle bells and the wheels 
ceased turning altogether. 

The whistling of the steam 
was something frightful, 
now—^it almost drowned 
all other noises. 

“ Stand by to meet her!” 

George had the wheel 
hard down and was stand¬ 
ing on a spoke. 

“ All ready! ” 

The boat hesitated — 
seemed to hold her breath, as did the captain and pilots— 
and then she began to fall away to starboard and every eye 
lighted: 

“ JVow then!—meet her! meet her! Snatch her ! ” 

The wheel flew to port so fast that the spokes blended into 
a spider-web—the swing of the boat subsided—she steadied 

herself- 

“ Seven feet! ” 

“ Sev— six and a ” 
feet! Six f-” 

Bang! She hit the bottom! George shouted through 
the tube: 

‘‘ Spread her wide open! Wliale it at her ! ” 

Pow—wow—chow! The escape-pipes belched snowy 

pillars of steam aloft, the boat ground and surged and trem- 















48 


A FULL HAND BUT THE TRICK LOST. 


bled—and slid over into- 

“ M-a-r-k twain ! ” 

Quarter-A^r-” 

“ Tap ! tap ! tap ! ” (to signify “ Lay in the leads.”) 

And away she went, flying np the willow shore, with the 
whole silver sea of the Mississippi stretching abroad on every 
hand. 

'No Amaranth in sight! 

Ha-ha, boys, we took a couple of tricks that time ! ” said 
the captain. 

And just at that moment a red glare appeared in the head 
of the chute and the Amaranth came springing after them! 

Well, I swear! ” 

‘‘Jim, what is the meaning of that ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you what’s the meaning of it. That hail we had 
at Hapoleon was Wash Hastings, wanting to come to Cairo 
—and we didn’t stop. He’s in that pilot house, now, show¬ 
ing those mud turtles how to hunt for easy water.” 

“That’s it! I thought it wasn’t any slouch that was run¬ 
ning that middle bar in Hog-eye Bend. If it’s Wash 
Hastings—well, what he don’t know about the river ain’t 
worth knowing—a regular gold-leaf, kid-glove, diamond- 
breastpin pilot Wash Hastings is. We won’t take any tricks 
off of him, old man ! ” 

“ I wish I’d a stopped for him, that’s all.” 

The Amaranth was within three hundred yards of the 
Boreas, and still gaining. The “ old man ” spoke through 
the tube: 

“ What is she carrying now ? ” 

“ A hundred and sixty-flve, sir! ” 

“ How’s your wood ? ” 

“Pine all out—cypress half gone—eating up cotton-wood 
like pie! ” 

“Break into that rosin on the main deck—pile it in, the 
boat can pay for it! ” 

Soon the boat was plunging and quivering and screaming 




TIIE EXPLOSION. 49 

more madly than ever. But the Amaranth’s head was almost 
abreast the Boreas’s stern : 

How’s your steam, now, Harry ? ” 

‘Hlundred and elghty-two, sir!” 

‘‘Break up the casks of bacon in the forrard hold! Pile 
it in! Levy on that turpentine in the fantail—drench every 
stick of wood with it! ” 

The boat was a moving earthquake by this time: 

“ How is she now ? ” 

“ A hundred and ninety-six and still a-swelling!—^water 
below the middle gauge-cocks!—carrying every pound she 
can stand !—nigger roosting on the safety-valve 1 ” 

“ Good 1 How’s your draft ? ” 

“ Bully 1 Every time a nigger heaves a stick of wood into 
the furnace he goes out the chimney with it! ” 

The Amaranth drew steadily up till her jack-staff breasted 
the Boreas’s wheel-house—climbed along inch by inch till her 
chimneys breasted it—crept along, further and further till 
the boats were wheel to wheel—and then they closed up with 
a heavy jolt and locked together tight and fast in the middle 
of the big river under the flooding moonlight 1 A roar and 
a hurrah went up from the crowded decks of both steamers 
—all hands rushed to the guards to look and shout and ges¬ 
ticulate—the weight careened the vessels over toward each 
other—officers flew hither and thither cursing and storming, 
trying to drive the people amidships—both captains were 
leaning over their railings shaking their flsts, swearing and 
threatening—black volumes of smoke rolled up and canopied 
the scene, delivering a rain of sparks upon the vessels—two 
pistol shots rang out, and both captains dodged unhurt and 
the packed masses of passengers surged back and fell apart 
while the shrieks of women and children soared above the 
intolerable din- 

And then there was a booming roar, a thundering crash, 
and the riddled Amaranth dropped loose from her hold and 
drifted helplessly away 1 

Instantly the fire-doors of the Boreas were thrown open 



50 


THE BURNING STEAMER 


and the men began dashing buckets of water into the fur¬ 
naces—for it would have been death and destruction to stop 
the engines with such a head of steam on. 

As soon as possible the Boreas dropped down to the float¬ 
ing wreck and took off the dead, the wounded and the unhurt— 
at least all that could be got at, for the whole forward half 
of the boat was a shapeless ruin, with the great chimneys 
lying crossed on top of it, and underneath were a dozen vic¬ 
tims imprisoned alive and wailing for help. While men with 
axes worked with might and main to free these poor fellows, 
the Boreas’s boats went about, picking up stragglers from the 
river. 

And now a new horror presented itself. The wreck took 
fire from the dismantled furnaces 1 Never did men work 
with a heartier will than did those stalwart braves with the 
axes. But it was of no use. The fire ate its way steadily, 
despising the bucket brigade that fought it. It scorched the 
clothes, it singed the hair of the axemen—it drove them 
back, foot by foot—inch by inch—^they wavered, struck a 
final blow in the teeth of the enemy, and suiTendered. And 
as they fell back they heard prisoned voices saying: 

“Don’t leave us 1 Don’t desert us 1 Don’t, don’t do it I ” 

And one poor fellow said; 

“ I am Henry Worley, striker of the Amaranth! My 
mother lives in St. Louis. Tell her a lie for a poor devil’s 
sake, please. Say I was killed in an instant and never knew 
what hurt me—though God knows I’ve neither scratch nor 
bruise this moment 1 It’s hard to burn up in a coop like this 
with the whole wide world so near. Good-bye boys—we’ve 
all got to come to it at last, anyway I ” 

The Boreas stood away out of danger, and the ruined 
steamer went drifting down the stream an island of wreath¬ 
ing and climbing flame that vomited clouds of smoke from 
time to time, and glared more flercely and sent its luminous 
tongues higher and higher after each emission. A shriek at 
intervals told of a captive that had met his doom. The 
wreck lodged upon a sandbar, and when the Boreas turned 


RESULTS OF THE RACE. 51 

the next point on her upward journey it was still burning with 
scarcely abated iury. 

When the boys came down into the main saloon of the 
Boreas, they saw a pitiful sight and heard a world of pitiful 
sounds. Eleven poor creatures lay dead and forty more lay 



ONE OP TKE VICTIMS. 


moaning, or pleading or screaming, while a score of Good 
Samaritans moved among them doing what they could to re¬ 
lieve their sufferings ; bathing their skinless faces and bodies 
with linseed oil and lime water and covering the places with 
bulging masses of raw cotton that gave to every face and 
form a dreadful and unhuman aspect. 

A little wee French midshipman of fourteen lay fearfully 
injured, but never uttered a sound till a physician of Mem¬ 
phis was about to dress his hurts. Then he said: 

‘‘ Can 1 get well ? You need not be afraid to tell me.” 

No—I—I am afraid you can not.” 

Then do not waste your time with me—help those that 
can get well.” 

‘‘But- 

“Help those that can get well! It is not for me to be a 
girl. I carry the blood of eleven generations of soldiers in 
my veins! ” 

The physician—himself a man ^vho had seen service in the 












52 


NOBODY TO BLAME. 


navy in his time—touched his hat to this little hero, and 
passed on. 

The head engineer of the Amaranth, a grand specimen of 
physical manhood, struggled to his feet a ghastly spectacle 
and strode toward his brother, the second engineer, who was 
unhurt. He said: 

‘‘You were on watch. You w^ere boss. You would not 
listen to me when I begged you to reduce your steam. Take 
that!—take it to my wdfe and tell her it comes from me by 
the hand of my murderer! Take it—and take my curse 
with it to blister your heart a hundred years—and may you 
live so long 1 ” 

And he tore a ring from his finger, stripping fiesh and 
skin with it, threw it down and fell dead I 

But these things must not be dwelt upon. The Boreas 
landed her dreadful cargo at the next large town and deliv¬ 
ered it over to a multitude of eager hands and warm southern 
hearts—a cargo amounting by this time to 39 wounded 
persons and 22 dead bodies. And with these she delivered a 
list of 96 missing persons that had drowned or otherwise 
perished at the scene of the disaster. 

A jury of inquest was impaneled, and after due deliber 
ation and inquiry they returned the inevitable American ver¬ 
dict which has been so familiar to our ears all the days of 
our lives—“ Hobody to blame.” * 


* The incidents of the explosion are not invented. They happened Just AS 
they are told.—T he Auihobs. 



CHAPTER V. 


II veut faire s^cher de la neige au four et la vendre pour du sel blanc. 

W HEI^ the Boreas backed away from the land to con¬ 
tinue her voyage up the river, the Hawkinses were 
richer by twenty-four hours of experience in the contempla¬ 
tion of human suffering and in learning through honest hard 
work how to relieve it. And they were richer in another 
way also. In the early turmoil an hour after the explosion, 
a little black-eyed girl of five years, frightened and crying 
bitterly, was struggling through the throng in the Boreas’ 
saloon calling her mother and father, but no one answered. 
—Something in the face of Mr. Hawkins attracted her and 
she came and looked up at him; was satisfied, and took 
refuge with him. He petted her, listened to her troubles, 
and said he would find her friends for her. Then he put 
her in a state-room with his children and told them to be kind 
to her (the adults of his party were all busy with the wound¬ 
ed) and straightway began his search. 

It was fruitless. But all day he and his wife made inquir¬ 
ies, and hoped against hope. All that they could learn was 
that the child and her parents came on board at Hew Orleans, 
where they had just arrived in a vessel from Cuba; that 
they looked like people from the Atlantic States; that the 
family name was Yan Brunt and the child’s name Laura. 
This was all. The parents had not been seen since the 
explosion. The child’s manners were those of a little lady, 
and her clothes were daintier and finer than any Mrs. Hawkins 
had ever seen before. 

As the hours dragged on the child lost heart, and cried so 
53 


64 


LITTLE LAUKA. 


piteously for her mother that it seemed to the Hawkinses 
that the meanings and the wailings of the mutilated men and 
women in the saloon did not so strain at their heart-strings 
as the sutFerings of this little desolate creature. They tried 
hard to comfort her; and in trying, learned to love her; they 
could not help it, seeing how she clung to them and put her 
arms about their necks and found no solace but in their kind 
eyes and comforting words. There was a question in both 
their hearts—a question that rose up and asserted itself with 
more and more pertinacity as the hours wmre on—but both 
hesitated to give it voice—both kept silence and waited. 
But a time came at last when the matter would bear delay 
no longer. The boat had landed, and the dead and the wound¬ 
ed were being conveyed to the shore. The tired child was 
asleep in the arms of Mrs. Hawkins. Mr. Hawkins came 
into their presence and stood without speaking. His eyes met 
his wife’s; then both looked at the child—and as they looked 
it stirred in its sleep and nestled closer; an expression of 
contentment and peace settled upon its face that touched the 
mother-heart; and when the eyes of husband and wdfe met 
again, the question was asked and answ^ered. 

When the Boreas had journeyed some four hundred miles 
from the time the Hawkinses joined her, a long rank of 
steamboats was sighted, packed side by side at a wdiarf like 
sardines in a box, and above and beyond them rose the domes 
and steeples and general architectural confusion of a city—a 
city with an imposing umbrella of black smoke spread over 
it. This was St. Louis. The children of the Hawkins fam¬ 
ily were playing about the hurricane deck, and the father and 
mother were sitting in the lee of the pilot house essaying 
to keep order and not greatly grieved that they were not 
succeeding. 

“They’re worth all the trouble they are, Nancy.” 

“Yes, and more. Si.” 

“ I believe you ! You wouldn’t sell one of them at a good 
round figure ? ” 

“Not for all the money in the bank. Si.” 

“My own sentiments every time. It is true we are not 


A LOOK AHEAD. 


55 


rich—but still you are not sorry—you haven’t any misgivings 
about the additions ? ” 

“No. God will provide.” 

“Amen. And so you wouldn’t even part with Clay ? Or 
Laura! ” 

“Not for anything in the world. I love them just the 
same as I love my own. They pet me and spoil me even 
more than the others do, I think. I reckon we’ll get along, 
Si.” 

“ Oh yes, it will all come out right, old mother. I wouldn’t 
be afraid to adopt a thousand children if I wanted to, for 
there’s that Tennessee Land, you know—enough to make an 
army of them rich. A whole army, Nancy! You and I 
wdll never see the day, but these little chaps will. Indeed 
they will. One of these days it will be ‘the rich Miss Emily 
Hawkins—and the wealthy Miss Laura Yan Brunt Hawkins 
—and the Hon. George Washington Hawkins, millionaire—• 
and Gov. Henry Clay Hawkins, millionaire! ’ That is the 
way the world will word it! Don’t let’s ever fret about the 
children, Nancy—never in the world. They’re all right. 
Nancy, there’s oceans and oceans of money in that land—■ 
mark my words! ” 

The children had stopped playing, for the moment, and 
drawn near to listen. Hawkins said : 

“Washington, my boy, what will you do when you get to 
be one of the richest men in the world ? ” 

“ I don’t know, father. Sometimes I think I’ll have a 
balloon and go up in the air; and sometimes I think I’ll 
have ever so many books ; and sometimes I think I’ll have 
ever so many weather-cocks and water-wheels; or have a 
machine like that one you and Colonel Sellers bought; and 
sometimes I think I’ll have—well, somehow I don’t know— 
somehow I ain’t certain ; maybe I’ll get a steamboat first.” 

“The same old chap !—always just a little bit divided 
about things.—And what will you do when you get to be 
one of the richest men in the world. Clay % ” 

“ I don’t know^, sir. My mother—my other mother that’s 


66 


THE NEW HOME. 


gone away—she always told me to work along and not be 
much expecting to get rich, and then I wouldn’t be disap¬ 
pointed if I didn’t get rich. And so I reckon it’s better for 
me to wait till I get rich, and then by that time maybe I’ll 
know what I’ll want—^but I don’t now, sir.” 

“ Careful old head !—Governor Henry Clay Hawkins !— 
that’s what you’ll be. Clay, one of these days. Wise old 
head! weighty old head ! Go on, now, and play—all of you. 
It’s a prime lot, Haney, as the Obedstown folk say about 
their hogs.” 

A smaller steamboat received the Hawkinses and their for¬ 
tunes, and bore them a hundred and thirty miles still higher 
up the Mississippi, and landed them at a little tumble-down 
village on the Missouri shore in the twilight of a mellow 
October day. 

The next morning they harnessed up their team and for 
two days they wended slowly into the interior through almost 
roadless and uninhabited forest solitudes. And when for the 
last time they pitched their tents, metaphorically speaking, 
it was at the goal of their hopes, their new home. 

By the muddy roadside stood a new log cabin, one story 
high—the store; clustered in the neighborhood were ten or 
twelve more cabins, some new, some old. 

In the sad light of the departing day the place looked 
homeless enough. Two or three coatless young men sat in 
front of the store on a dry-goods box, and whittled it with 
their knives, kicked it with their vast boots, and shot tobacco- 
juice at various marks. Several ragged negroes leaned com¬ 
fortably against the posts of the awning and contemplated 
the arrival of the wayfarers with lazy curiosity. All these 
people presently managed to drag themselves to the vicinity 
of the Hawkins’ wagon, and there they took up permanent 
positions, hands in pockets and resting on one leg; and thus 
anchored they proceeded to look and enjoy. Yagrant dogs 
came wagging around and making inquiries of Hawkins’s 
dog, which were not satisfactory and they made war on him 
in concert. This would have interested the citizens but it 



COL. SELLERS’ RECEPTION. 57 

was too many on one to amount to anything as a fight, and 
so they commanded the peace and the foreign dog furled his 
tail and took sanctuary under the wagon. Slatternly negro 
girls and women slouched along with pails deftly balanced 
on their heads, and joined the group and stared. Little half 
dressed white boys, and little negro boys with nothing what¬ 
ever on but tow-linen shirts with a fine southern exposure, 
came from various directions and stood with their hands 
locked together behind them and aided in the inspection. 
The rest of the population were laying down their employ¬ 
ments and getting ready to come, when a man burst through 
the assemblage and seized the new-comers by the hands in a 
frenzy of welcome, and exclaimed—indeed almost shouted: 

“ Well who have believed it! Now is it you sure 

enough—turn around ! hold up your heads! I want to look 
at you good! Well, well, well, it does seem most too good 
to be true, I declare ! Lord, I’m so glad to see you ! Does 
a body’s whole soul good to look at you! Shake hands 
again! Keep on shaking hands! Goodness gracious alive. 
What will my wife say ?—Oh yes indeed, it’s so !—married 
only last week—lovely, perfectly lovely creature, the noblest 
woman that ever—you’ll like her, Nancy ! Like her? Lord 
bless me you’ll love her—you’ll dote on her—you’ll be 
twins! AYell, well, well, let me look at you again! Same 
old—why bless my life it was only jnst this very morning 
that my wife says, ^ Colonel’—she will call me Colonel spite 
of everything I can do—she says ‘ Colonel, something tells 
me somebody’s coming! ’ and sure enough here you are, the 
last people on earth a body could have expected. AYhy she’ll 
think she’s a prophetess—and hanged if I don’t think so 
too—and you know there ain’t any country but what a 
prophet’s an honor to, as the proverb says. Lord bless me—- 
and here’s the children, too ! Washington, Emily, don’t you 
know me ? Come, give us a kiss. Won’t I fix you^ though! 
—ponies, cows, dogs, everything you can think of that’ll 

delight a child’s heart—and-. Why how’s this ? Little 

strangers? Well you won’t be any strangers here, I can tell 



58 


MADE COMFORTABLE. 



you. Bless your souls we’ll make you tliink you never was 
at home before—’deed and ’deed we will, 1 can tell you! 
Come, now, bundle right along with me. You can’t glorify 
any hearth stone but mine in this camp, you know—can’t eat 
anybody’s bread but mine—can’t do anything but just make 
yourselves perfectly at home and comfortable, and spread 
yourselves out and rest ! You hear me ! Here—Jim, Tom, 
Pete, Jake, fly around ! Take that team to my place—put 
the wagon in my lot—put the horses under the shed, and get 
out hay and oats and till them up! Ain’t any hay and oats? 
Well get some—have it charged to me—come, spin around, 
now ! How, Hawkins, the procession’s ready; mark time, 
by the left flank, /brward—march ! ” 

And the Colonel took the lead, with Laura astride his 
neck, and the newly-inspired and very grateful immigrants 


THE PROCESSION—FORWARD, MARCH ! 

picked up their tired limbs with quite a spring in them and 
dropped into his wake. 

Presently they were ranged about an old-time fire-place 
whose blazing logs sent out rather an unnecessary amount of 
heat, but that was no matter—supper was needed, and to have 
it, it had to be cooked. This apartment was the family bed- 













AT COL. SELLERS’ HOUSE. 


59 


room, parlor, library and kitchen, all in one. The matronly 
little wife of the Colonel moved hither and thither and in 



COL. sellers’ little wife. 


and out with her pots and pans in her hands, happiness in 
her heart and a world of admiration of her husband in her 
eyes. And when at last she had spread the cloth and loaded 
it with hot corn bread, fried chickens, bacon, buttermilk, 
coffee, and all manner of country luxuries. Col. Sellers modi¬ 
fied his harangue and for a moment throttled it down to the 
orthodox pitch for a blessing, and then instantly burst forth 
again as from a parenthesis and clattered on wdth might and 
main till every stomach in the party was laden with all it 
could carry. And when the new-comers ascended the ladder 
to their comfortable feather beds on the second floor—to wit, 
the garret—Mrs. Hawkins was obliged to say: 

“ Hang the fellow, I do believe he has gone wilder than 
ever, but still a body can’t help liking him if they would— 
and what is more, they don’t ever want to try when they see 
his eyes and hear him talk.” 

Within a week or two the Hawkinses were comfortably 
domiciled in a new log house, and were beginning to feel at 
home. The children were put to school; at least it was 


60 A LIGHTNING ROD AND STORE CARPETS. 

what passed for a school in those days: a place where tender 
young humanity devoted itself for eight or ten hours a day 
to learning incomprehensible rubbish by heart out of books 
and reciting it by rote, like parrots; so that a finished educa¬ 
tion consisted simply of a permanent headache and the abil¬ 
ity to read without stopping to spell the words or take breath. 
Hawkins bought out the village store for a song and proceeded 
to reap the profits, which amounted to but little more than 
another song. 

The wonderful speculation hinted at by Col. Sellers in his 
letter turned out to be the raising of mules for the Southern 
market; and really it promised very well. The young stock 
cost but a trifle, the rearing but another trifle, and so Haw¬ 
kins was easily persuaded to embark his slender means in the 
enterprise and turn over the keep and care of the animals to 
Sellers and Uncle Dan’l. 

All went well. Business prospered little by little. Haw¬ 
kins even built a new house, made it two full stories high and 
put a lightning rod on it. People came two or three miles 
to look at it. But they knew that the rod attracted the 
lightning, and so they gave the place a wide berth in a storm, 
for they were familiar with marksmanship and doubted if 
the lightning could hit that small stick at a distance of a mile 
and a half oftener than once in a hundred and fifty times. 
Hawkins fitted out his house with ‘‘store’’ furniture from 
St. Louis, and the fame of its magnificence went abroad in 
the land. Even the parlor carpet was from St. Louis—though 
the other rooms were clothed in the “ rag ” carpeting of the 
country. Hawkins put up the first “paling” fence that had 
ever adorned the village; and he did not stop there, but 
whitewashed it. His oil-cloth ‘window-curtains had noble 
pictures on them of castles such as had never been seen any¬ 
where in the world but on window-curtains. Hawkins 
enjoyed the admiration these prodigies compelled, but he 
always smiled to think how poor and cheap they were, com¬ 
pared to what the Hawkins mansion would display in a future 
day after the Tennessee Land should have borne its minted 
fruit. Even Washington observed^ once, that when the 


THE SECRETS OF SUCCESSFUL SPECULATION. 61 

Tennessee Land was sold lie would have a ‘‘store” carpet in 
his and Clay’s room like the one in the parlor. This pleased 
Hawkins, but it troubled his wife. It did not seem wise, to 
her, to put one’s entire earthly trust in the Tennessee Land 
and never think of doing any wmrk. 

Hawkins took a w^eekly Philadelphia newspaper and a 
semi-weekly St. Louis journal—almost the only papers that 
came to the village, though Godey’s Lady’s Book found a 
good market there and was regarded as the perfection of 
polite literature by some of the ablest critics in the place. 
Perhaps it is only fair to explain that we are writing of a by 
gone age—some twenty or thirty years ago. In the two 
newspapers referred to lay the secret of Hawkins’s growing 
prosperity. They kept him informed of the condition of the 
crops south and east, and thus he knew which articles were 
likely to be in demand and which articles were likely to be 
unsalable, weeks and even months in advance of the simple 
folk about him. As the months went by he came to be re¬ 
garded as a wonderfully lucky man. It did not occur to the 
citizens that brains were at the bottom of his luck. 

His title of “ Squire” came into vogue again, but only for 
a season; for, as his wealth and popularity augmented, that 
title, by imperceptible stages, grew up into “Judge;” indeed 
it bade fair to swell into “General” bye and bye. All 
strangers of consequence who visited the village gravitated 
to the Hawkins Mansion and became guests ot the “Judge.” 

Hawkins had learned to like the people of his section very 
much. They were uncouth and not cultivated, and not par¬ 
ticularly industrious; but they were honest and straight¬ 
forward, and their virtuous ways commanded respect. Their 
patriotism was strong, their pride in the flag was of the old- 
fashioned pattern, their love of country amounted to idolatry. 
Whoever dragged the national honor in the dirt won their 
deathless hatred. They still cursed Benedict Arnold as if he 
were a personal friend who had broken faith but a week 
gone by. 


CHAPTER VL 


+ ^ H ^ 


Mesu eu azhel&shet 

W ashkebem&tizitaking, 

N&wuj beshegand^guz4 
Manw4begonig edusb wen. 

W E skip ten years and this history finds certain changes 
to record. 

Judge Hawkins and Col. Sellers have made and lost two 
or three moderate fortunes in the meantime and are now 
pinched by poverty. Sellers has two pairs of twins and four 
extras. In Hawkins’s family are six children of his own and 
two adopted ones. From time to time, as fortune smiled, 
the elder children got the benefit of it, spending the lucky 
seasons at excellent schools in St. Louis and the unlucky ones 
at home in the chafing discomfort of straightened circum¬ 
stances. 

Heither the Hawkins children nor the world that knew 
them ever supposed that one of the girls was of alien blood 
and parentage. Such ditference as existed between Laura 
and Emily is not uncommon in a family. The girls had 
grown up as sisters, and they were both too young at the 
time of the fearful accident on the Mississippi to know that 
it was that which had thrown their lives together. 

And yet any one who had known the secret of Laura’s 
birth and had seen her during these passing years, say at the 
happy age of twelve or thirteen, would have fancied that he 

r>2 


THE YOUNG BEAUTY. 


63 


knew the reason why she was more winsome than her school 
companion. 

Philosophers dispute whether it is the promise of what she 
will he in the careless school-girl, that makes her attractive, 
the undeveloped maidenhood, or the mere natural, careless 
sweetness of childhood. If Laura at twelve was beginning 
to be a beauty, the thought of it had never entered her head. 
No, indeed. Her mind was filled with more important 
thoughts. To her simple school-girl dress she was beginning 
to add those mysterious little adornments of ribbon-knots 
and ear-rings, which were the subject of earnest consultations 
with her grown friends. 

When she tripped down the street on a summePs day with 
her dainty hands propped into the ribbon-broidered pockets 



LAURA. 


of her apron, and elbows consequently more or less akimbo 
with her wide Leghorn hat flapping down and hiding her 
face one moment and blowing straight up against her fore¬ 
head the next and making its revealment ot fresh young 
beauty; with all her pretty girlish airs and graces in full 


64 


POVERTY AND TEMPTATIONS. 


play, and that sweet ignorance of care and that atmosphere 
of innocence and purity all about her that belong to her 
gracious time of life, indeed she was a vision to warm the 
coldest heart and bless and cheer the saddest. 

Willful, generous, forgiving, imperious, alFectionate, im¬ 
provident, bewitching, in short—was Laura at this period. 
Could she have remained there, this history would not need 
to be written. But Laura had grown to be almost a woman 
in these few years, to the end of which we have now come— 
years which had seen Judge Hawkins pass through so many 
trials. 

When the judge’s first bankruptcy came upon him, a 
homely human angel intruded upon him with an offer of 
$1,500 for the Tennessee Land. Mrs. Hawkins said take it. 
It was a grievous temptation, but the judge withstood it. 
He said the land was for the children—he could not rob them 
of their future millions for so paltry a sum. When the 
second blight fell upon him, another angel appeared and 
offered $3,000 for the land. He was in such deep distress 
that he allowed his wife to persuade him to let the papers be 
drawn ; but when his children came into his presence in their 
poor apparel, he felt like a traitor and refused to sign. 

But now he was down again, and deeper in the mire than 
ever. He paced the floor all day, he scarcely slept at night. 
He blushed even to acknowledge it to himself, but treason 
was in his mind—he was meditating, at last, the sale of the 
land. Mrs. Hawkins stepped into the room. He had not 
spoken a word, but he felt as guilty as if she had caught him 
in some shameful act. She said : 

Si, I do not know what we are going to do. The chil¬ 
dren are not fit to be seen, their clothes are in such a state. 
But there’s something more serious still.—There is scarcely 
a bite in the house to eat.” 

‘‘Why, Haney, goto Johnson- 

“Johnson indeed! You took that man’s part when he 
hadn’t a friend in the w^orld, and you built him up and made 
him rich. And here’s the result of it: He lives in our fine 



TROUBLE AND DARKNESS. 


65 


house, and we live in his miserable log cabin. He has hinted 
to oiir children that he would rather they wouldn’t come 
about his yard to play with his children,—which I can bear, 
and bear easy enough, for they’re not a sort we want to asso¬ 
ciate with much but what 1 cdn^t bear with any quietness 
at all, is his telling Franky our bill was running pretty high 
this morning when 1 sent him for some meal—and that was 
all he said, too—didn’t give him the meal—turned off and 
went to talking with the Hargrave girls about some stuff they 
wanted to cheapen.” 

Nancy, this is astounding ! ” 

“And so it is, I warrant you. I’ve kept still. Si, as long 
as ever I could. Things have been getting worse and worse, 
and worse and worse, every single day; I don’t go out of 
the house, I feel so down; but you had trouble enough, and 
1 wouldn’t say a word—and 1 wouldn’t say a word now, only 
things have got so bad that I don’t know what to do, nor 
where to turn.” And she gave way and put her face in her 
hands and cried. 

“Poor child, don’t grieve so. I never thought that of 
Johnson. I am clear at my wit’s end. I don’t know what 



READY TO SELL. 

in the world to do. ]S^o^o if somebody would come along 
and offer $3,000—Oh, if somebody only would come along 



















66 


NOT YET OVERCOME. 


and offer $3,000 for that Tennessee Land- 

“ You’d sell it, Si?” said Mrs. Hawkins excitedly. 

Try me ! ” 

Mrs. Hawkins was out of the room in a moment. Within 
a minute she was back again with a business-looking stranger, 
whom she seated, and then she took her leave again. Haw¬ 
kins said to himself, “ How can a man ever lose faith ? 
When the blackest hour comes. Providence always cornea 
with it—ah, this is the very timeliest help that ever poor 
harried devil had ; if this blessed man offers but a thousand 
I’ll embrace him like a brother! ” 

The stranger said: 

I am aware that you own 75,000 acres of land in East 
Tennessee, and without sacrificing your time, I will come to 
the point at once. I am agent of an iron manufacturing 
company, and they empower me to offer you ten thousand 
dollars for that land.” 

Hawkins’s heart bounded wfithin him. His whole frame 
was racked and wrenched with fettered hurrahs. His first 
impulse was to shout—“ Done ! and God bless the iron com¬ 
pany, too! ” 

But a something flitted through his mind, and his opened 
lips uttered nothing. The enthusiasm faded away from his 
eyes, and the look of a man who is thinking took its place. 
Presently, in a hesitating, undecided way, he said: 

“Well, I—it don’t seem quite enough. That—that is a 
very valuable property—very valuable. It’s brim full of iron 
ore, sir—brim full of it! And copper, coal,—everything— 
everything you can think of! How, I’ll tell you what I’ll 
do. I’ll reserve everything except the iron, and I’ll sell 
them the iron property for $15,000 cash, I to go in with 
them and own an undivided interest of one-half the concern, 
—or the stock, as you may say. I’m out of business, and 
I’d just as soon help run the thing as not. How how does 
that strike you ? ” 

“Well, I am only an agent of these people, who are friends 



NEARLY CAUGHT. 


67 


of mine, and 1 am not even paid for mj services. To tell 
yon the truth, I have tried to persuade them not to go into 
the thing; and I have come square out with their offer, 
wdthout throwing out any feelers—and I did it in the hope 
that you would refuse. A man pretty much always refuses 
another man’s first offer, no matter what it is. But I have 
performed my duty, and will take pleasure in telling them 
what you say.” 

He w-as about to rise. Hawkins said, 

‘‘Wait a bit.” 

Hawkins thought again. And the substance of his thought 
was: “This is a deep man; this is a very deep man; I don’t 
like his candor; your ostentatiously candid business man’s a 
deep fox—always a deep fox; this man’s that iron company 
himself—that’s what he is; he w^ants that property, too; I 
am not so blind but I can see that; he don’t w^ant the com¬ 
pany to go into this thing—O, that’s very good; yes, that’s 
very good indeed—stuff! he’ll be back here to-morrow, sure, 
and take my offer; take it % I’ll risk anything he is suffering 
to take it now; here—I must mind what I’m about. What 
has started this sudden excitement about iron ? I wonder 
what is in the wind ? just as sure as I’m alive this moment, 
there’s something tremendous stirring in iron speculation ” 
[here Hawkins got up and began to pace the fioor with ex¬ 
cited eyes and with gesturing hands]—“ something enormous 
going on in iron, without the shadow of a doubt, and here I 
sit mousing in the dark and never knowing anything about 
it; great heaven, what an escape I’ve made! this underhanded 
mercenary creature might have taken me up—and ruined me 1 
but I ham escaped, and I warrant me I’ll not put my foot 
into— 

He stopped and turned toward the stranger, saying: 

“ I have made you a proposition,—^}mu have not accepted 
it, and I desire that you will consider that I have made none. 
At the same time my conscience will not allow me to—. 
Please alter the figures I named to thirty thousand dollars, if 



68 


THE JUDGE HIMSELF AGAIN. 


you will, and let tlie proposition go to tlie company—1 will 
stick to it if it breaks my heart 1 ” 

The stranger looked amused, and there was a pretty well 



STOCK RISING. 


defined touch of surprise in his expression, too, but Hawkins 
never noticed it. Indeed he scarcely noticed anything or 
knew what he was about. The man left; Hawkins flung 
himself into a chair; thought a few moments, then glanced 
around, looked frightened, sprang to the door- 

“Too late—too late! He’s gone! Fool that I am!—■ 
always a fool! Thirty tliousand—ass that I am ! Oh, why 
didn’t I say fifty thousand ! ” 

He plunged his hands into his hair and leaned his elbows 
on his knees, and fell to rocking himself back and forth in 
anguish. Mrs. Hawkins sprang in, beaming: 

“ Well, Si % ” 

“ Oh, con-found the con-founded— Qon-found it, Haney. 
I’ve gone and done it, now! ” 

“ Done what, Si, for mercy’s sake ! ” 











TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS SENT A BEGGING. 


69 


‘‘ Done everything ! Ruined everything! ” 

‘‘Tell me, tell me,me! Don’t keep a body in such 
suspense. Didn’t he buy, after all? Didn’t he make an 
offer?” 

“Offer? He offered $10,000 for our land, and-” 

“ Thank the good providence from the very bottom of my 
heart of hearts 1 What sort of ruin do you call that. Si 1 ” 

“Haney, do you suppose I listened to such a preposterous 
proposition ? Ho 1 Thank fortune I’m not a simpleton 1 1 

saw through the pretty scheme in a second. It’s a vast iron 
speculation!—millions upon millions in it! But fool as I 
am I told him lie could have half the iron property for thirty 
thousand—and if I only had him back here he couldn’t 
touch it for a cent less than a quarter of a million 1 ” 

Mrs. Hawkins looked up white and despairing: 

“You threw away this chance, you let this man go, and 
we in this awful trouble? You don’t mean it, you canH 
mean it 1 ” 

“ Throw it away ? Catch me at it! Why woman, do you 
suppose that man don’t know what he is about ? Bless you, 
he’ll be back fast enough to-morrow.” 

“Hever, never, never. He never will come back. I don’t 
know what is to become of us. I don’t know what in the 
world is to become of us.” 

A shade of uneasiness came into Hawkins’s face. He 
said: 

“Why, Haney, you—you can’t believe what you are 
saying.” 

“ Believe it, indeed ? I Tenow it. Si. And I know that we 
haven’t a cent in the world, and we’ve sent ten thousand 
dollars a-begging.” 

“Haney, you frighten me. How could that man—is it 
possible that I—hanged if I don’t believe I have missed a 
chance 1 Don’t grieve, Haney, don’t grieve. I’ll go right 
after him. I’ll take—I’ll take—what a fool I am !—I’ll take 
anything he’ll give! ” 

The next instant he left the house on a run. But the man 



70 


A VIEW OF THE SITUATION. 


was no longer in the town. IN^obodj knew where he 
belonged or whither he had gone. Hawkins came slowly 
back, watching wistfully but hopelessly for the stranger, and 
lowering his price steadily with his sinking heart. And 
when his foot finally pressed his own threshold, the value he 
held the entire Tennessee property at was five hundred 
dollars—two hundred down and the rest in three equal an¬ 
nual payments, without interest. 

There was a sad gathering at the Hawkins fireside the next 
night. All the children were present but Clay. Mr. Haw¬ 
kins said: 

“Washington, we seem to be hopelessly fallen, hopelessly 
involved. I am ready to give up. 1 do not know where to 
turn—I never have been down so low before, I never have 
seen things so dismal. There are many mouths to feed ; 
Clay is at work; we must lose you, also, for a little while, 
my boy. But it will not be long—the Tennessee land-” 

He stopped, and was conscious of a blush. There was 
silence for a moment, and then Washington—now a lank, 
dreamy-eyed stripling between twenty-two and twenty-three 
years of age—said: 

“ If Col. Sellers would come for me, I would go and stay 
with him a while, till the Tennessee land is sold. He has 
often wanted me to come, ever since he moved to Hawk- 
eye.” 

“I’m afraid he can’t well come for you, Washington. 
From what I can hear—not from him of course, but from 
others—he is not far from as bad off as we are—and his fam¬ 
ily is as large, too. He might find something for you to do, 
maybe, but you’d better try to get to him yourself, Wash¬ 
ington—it’s only thirty miles.” 

“ But how can I, father ? There’s no stage or anything.” 

“And if there were, stages require money. A stage goes 
from Swansea, five miles from here. But it would be cheaper 
to walk.” 

‘‘ Father, they must know you there, and no doubt they 



LAYING PLANS. 


71 


would credit you in a moment, for a little stage ride like 
that. Couldn’t you write and ask them ? ” 

“ Couldn’t Washington—seeing it’s you that wants 

the ride? And what do you think you’ll do, Washington, 
when you get to Hawkeye ? rinish your invention for 
making window-glass opaque ? ” 

“Ho, sir, I have given that up. I almost knew I could do 
it, but it was so tedious and troublesome 1 quit it.” 

“ I was afraid of it, my boy. Then I suppose you’ll finish 
your plan of coloring hen’s eggs by feeding a peculiar diet 
to the hen ? ” 

“Ho, sir. I believe I have found out the stuff that will 
do it, but it kills the hen; so I have dropped that for the 
present, though I can take it up again some day when I learn 
how to manage the mixture better.” 

“Well, what have you got on hand—anything?” 

“Yes, sir, three or four things. I think they are all good 
and can all be done, but they are tiresome, and besides they 
require money. But as soon as the land is sold-” 

“Emily, were you about to say something?” said Haw¬ 
kins. 

“Yes, sir. If you are willing, I will go to St. Louis. 
That will make another mouth less to feed. Mrs. Buckner 
has always wanted me to come.” 

“ But the money, child ? ” 

“ Why I think she would send it, if you would write her 
—and I know she would wait for her pay till-” 

“ Come, Laura, let’s hear from you, my girl.” 

Emily and Laura were about the same age—between sev¬ 
enteen and eighteen. Emily was fair and pretty, girlish and 
diffident—^bliie eyes and light hair. Laura had a proud bear¬ 
ing and a somewhat mature look; she had fine, clean-cut 
features, her complexion was pure white and contrasted 
vividly with her black hair and eyes; she was not what one 
calls pretty—she was beautiful. She said : 

“I will go to St. Louis, too, sir. I will find a way to get 
there. 1 will make a way. And I will find a way to help 





72 THE BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS POUND. 

myself along, and do wliat I can to help the rest, too.” 

She spoke it like a 2 :»rincess. Mrs. Hawkins smiled j^roud- 
ly and kissed her, saying in a tone of fond reproof: 

So one of my girls is going to turn out and work for her 
living! It’s like your pluck and spirit, child, hut we will 
hope that we haven’t got quite down to that, yet.” 

The girl’s eyes beamed affection under her mother’s caress. 
Then she straightened up, folded her white hands in her lap 


A FAMILY COUNCIL. 

and became a splendid ice-berg. Clay’s dog put up his 
brown nose for a little attention, and got it. He retired 
under the table with an apologetic yelp, which did not affect 
the iceberg. 

Judge Hawkins had written and asked Clay to return home 
and consult with him upon family affairs. lie arrived the 
evening after this conversation, and the whole household 
gave him a rapturous welcome. He brought sadly needed 
help with him, consisting of the savings of a year and a half 
of work—nearly two hundred dollars in money. 


















A STATE TO LEAN UPON. 


73 


It was a ray of suiisliiiie wliich (to tins easy household) was 
the earnest of a clearing sky. 

Bright and early in the morning the family were astir, and 
all were busy preparing Washington for his journey—at least 
all but Washington himself, who sat apart, steeped in a rev¬ 
erie. When the time for his departure came, it was easy to 
see how fondl}^ all loved him and how hard it was to let him 
go, notwithstanding they had often seen him go before, in his 
St. Louis schooling days. In the most matter-of-course way 
they had borne the burden of getting him ready for his trip, 
never seeming to think of Ais helping in the matter; in the 
same matter-of-course way Clay had hired a horse and cart; 
and now that the good-byes were ended he bundled AVash- 
ington’s baggage in and drove away with the exile. 

At Swansea Clay paid his stage fare, stowed him away in 
the vehicle, and saw him otf. Then he returned home and 
reported progress, like a committee of the whole. 

Clay remained at home several days. He held many con¬ 
sultations with his mother upon the financial condition of 
the family, and talked once with his father upon the same 
subject, but only once. He found a change in that quarter 
which Avas distressing; years of fiuctnating fortune had done 
their work; each rev^erse had weakened the father’s spirit 
and impaired his energies; his last misfortune seemed to 
have left hope and ambition dead within him; he had no 
projects, formed no plans—evidently he was a vanquished 
man. He looked worn and tired. He inquired into Clay’s 
affairs and pi'ospects, and when he found that Clay w'^as doing 
pretty well and was likely to do still better, it was plain that 
he resigned himself with easy facility to look to the son for 
a support; and he said, “Keep yourself informed of poor 
Washington’s condition and movements, and help him along 
all you can. Clay.” 

The younger children, also, seemed relieved of all fears 
and distresses, and very ready and willing to look to Clay for 
a livelihood. AVithin three days a general tranquility and 
satisfaction reigned in the household. Clay’s hundred and 


74 


PEACE AND CONTENTMENT. 


eighty or ninety dollars had worked a wonder. The family 
were as contented, now, and as free from care as they could 
have been with a fortune. It was well that Mrs. Hawkins 
held the purse—otherwise the treasure would have lasted but 
a very little while. 

It took but a trifle to pay Hawkins’s outstanding obliga¬ 
tions, for he had always had a horror of debt. 

When Clay bade his home good-bye and set out to return 
to the field of his labors, he was conscious that henceforth he 
was to have his father’s family on his hands as pensioners; 
but he did not allow himself to chafe at the thought, for he 
reasoned that his father had dealt by him with a free hand 
and a loving one all his life, and now that hard fortune had 
broken his spirit it ought to be a pleasure, not a pain, to work 
for him. The younger children were born and educated 
dependents. They had never been taught to do anything 
for themselves, and it did not seem to occur to them to make 
an attempt now. 

The girls would not have been permitted to work for a 
living under any circumstances whatever. It was a southern 
family, and of good blood; and for any person except Laura, 
either within or without the household to have suggested 
such an idea would have brought upon the suggester tlie sus¬ 
picion of being a lunatic. 



CHAPTER VII. 


Ft«, Pecunia I when she’s run and gone 
And fled, and dead, then will I fetch her again 
With aqua vitae, out of an old hogshead ! 

While there are lees of wine, or dregs of beer, 

I’ll never want her! Coin her out of cobwebs. 

Dust, but I’ll have her! raise wool upon egg-shells, 

Sir, and make grass grow out of marrow-bones. 

To make her come! 

B. Jonson. 

B EAEING Washington Hawkins and his fortunes, the 
stage-coach tore out of Swansea at a fearful gait, with 
liorn tooting gaily and half the town admiring from doors 
and windows. But it did not tear any more after it got to 
the outskirts; it dragged along stupidly enough, then— 
till it came in sight of the next hamlet; and then the bugle 
tooted gaily again and again the vehicle went tearing by the 
houses. This sort of conduct^ marked every entry to a 
station and every exit from it; and so in those days children 
grew up with the idea that stage-coaches always tore and 
always tooted; but they also grew up with the idea that 
pirates went into action in their Sunday clothes, carrying the 
black flag in one hand and pistolling people with the other, 
merely because they were so represented in the pictures— 
but these illusions vanished when later years brought their 
disenchanting wisdom. They learned then that the stage¬ 
coach is but a poor, plodding, vulgar thing in the solitudes 


76 


A SEARCH FOR A DIME. 


of tlie highway; and that the pirate is only a seedy, nnfan- 
tastic ‘‘rough,” when he is out of the pictures. 

Toward evening, tlie stage-coach came thundering into 
Hawkeye with a perfectly triumphant ostentation—which 
was natural and proper, for Hawkeye was a pretty large 
town for interior Missouri. Washington, very stiff and tired 
and hungry, climbed out, and wondered how he was to pro¬ 
ceed now. But his difficulty was quickly solved. Col. Sel¬ 
lers came down the street on a run and arrived panting for 
breath. He said: 

“ Lord bless you—I’m glad to see you, Washington—per¬ 
fectly delighted to see you, my boy! I got your message. 
Been on the look-out for you. Heard the stage horn, but 
had a party I couldn’t shake off—man that’s got an enormous 
thing on hand—wants me to put some capital into it—and I 
tell you, my boy, I could do worse, I could do a deal wmrse. 
Ho, now, let that luggage alone; I’ll fix that. Here, Jerry, 
got anything to do ? All right—shoulder this plunder and 
follow me. Come along, Washington. Lord I’m glad to see 
you 1 Wife and the children are just perishing to look at 
you. Bless you, they wmn’t know you, you’ve growm so. 
Folks all w^ell, I suppose? That’s good—glad to hear that. 
We’re ahvays going to run dowm and see them, but I’m into 
so many operations, and they’re not things a man feels like 
trusting to other people, and so somehow^ we keep putting it 
off. Fortunes in them ! Good gracious, it’s the country to 
pile up wealth in ! Here we are—here’s wdiere the Sellers 
dynasty hangs out. Dump it on the door-step, Jerry—the 
blackest niggro in the State, Washington, but got a good 
heart—mighty likely boy, is Jerry. And now I suppose 
you’ve got to have ten cents, Jerry. That’s all right—when 
a man works for me—when a man—in the other pocket, I 
reckon—when a man—why, where the mischief is that port- 
monnaie!—when a—well now that’s odd—Oh, now I re^ 
member, must have left it at the bank; and b’George I’ve 
left my check-book, too—Polly says I ought to have a nurse 


WELCOME WASHINGTON. 


77 


—^well, no matter. Let me have a dime, Washington, if 
you’ve got—ah, thanks. Now clear out, Jerry, your coni- 



ATTEMPTED CORNER IN SPECIE. 


plexion has brought on the twilight half an hour ahead of 
time. Pretty fair joke—pretty fair. Here he is, Polly! 
Washington’s come, children !—come now, don’t eat him up 
—finish him in the house. Welcome, my boy, to a mansion 
that is proud to shelter the son of the best man that walks on 
the ground. Si Hawkins has been a good friend to me, and 
I believe I can say that whenever I’ve had a chance to put 
him into a good thing I’ve done it, and done it pretty cheer¬ 
fully, too. I put him into that sugar speculation—what a 
grand thing that was, if we hadn’t held on too long! ” 

True enough ,* but holding on too long had utterly ruined 
both of them ; and the saddest part of it was, that they never 
had had so much money to lose before, for Sellers’s sale of 
their mule crop that year in New Orleans had been a great 
financial success. If he had kept out of sugar and gone back 













THE SELLERS MANSION. 


home content to stick to mules it would nave been a happy 
wisdom. As it was, he managed to kill two birds with one 
stone—that is to say, he killed the sugar speculation by hold- 
ijig for high rates till he had to sell at the bottom figure, and 
that calamity killed the mule that laid the golden egg—which 
is but a figurative expression and will be so understood. 
Sellers had returned home cheerful but empty-handed, and 
the mule business lapsed into other hands. The sale of the 
Hawkins property by the Sheriff had followed, and the Haw¬ 
kins hearts been torn to see Uncle DanT and his wife pass 
from the auction-block into the hands of a negro trader and 
depart for the remote South to be seen no more by the 
family. It had seemed like seeing their own flesh and blood 
sold into banishment. 

Washington was greatly pleased with the Sellers mansion. 
It was a two-story-and-a-half brick, and much more stylish 
than any of its neighbors. He was borne to the family sit¬ 
ting room in triumph by the swarm of little Sellerses, the 
parents following with their arms about each other’s waists. 

The whole family were poorly and cheaply dressed ; and 
the clothing, although neat and clean, showed many evi¬ 
dences of having seen long service. The Colonel’s ‘‘stovepipe” 
hat was napless and shiny with much polishing, but never¬ 
theless it had an almost convincing expression about it of 
having been just purchased new. The rest of his clothing 
was napless and shiny, too, but it had the air of being 
entirely satisfied with itself and blandly sorry for other peo¬ 
ple’s clothes. It was growing rather dark in the house, and 
the evening air was chilly, too. Sellers said : 

“Lay ofi your overcoat, Washington, and draw up to the 
stove and make yourself at home—just consider yourself 
under your own shingles my boy—I’ll have a fire going, in a 
jiffy. Light the lamp, Polly, dear, and let’s have things 
cheerful—just as glad to see you, Washington, as if you’d 
been lost a century and we’d found you again ! ” 

By this time the Colonel was conveying a lighted match 
into a poor little stove. Then he propped the stove door to 
hs place by leaning the poker against it, for the hinges had 


THE COLONEL’S WONDERFUL CLOCK. 79 

retired from business. This door framed a small square of 
isinglass, which now warmed up with a faint glow. Mrs. 
Sellers lit a cheap, showy lamp, which dissipated a good deal 
of the gloom, and then everybody gathered into the light and 
took the stove into close companionship. 

The children climbed all over Sellers, fondled him, petted 
him, and were lavishly petted in return. Out from this tug¬ 
ging, laughing, chattering disguise of legs and arms and 
little faces, the Colonel’s voice worked its way and his tire¬ 
less tongue ran blithely on without interruption; and the 
purring little wife, diligent with her knitting, sat near at 
hand and looked happy and proud and grateful; and she 
listened as one who listens to oracles and gospels and whose 
grateful soul is being refreshed with the bread of life. Bye 
and bye the children quieted down to listen; clustered about 
their father, and resting their elbows on his legs, they hung 
Upon his words as if he were uttering the music of the spheres. 

A dreary old hair-cloth sofa against the w^all; a few dam¬ 
aged chairs; the small table the lamp stood on; the crippled 
stove—these things constituted the furniture of the room. 
There was no carpet on the floor; on the wall were occasion¬ 
al square-shaped interruptions of the general tint of the plas¬ 
ter which betrayed that there used to be pictures in the house 
—but there were none now. There were no mantel orna¬ 
ments, unless one might bring himself to regard as an orna¬ 
ment a clock which never came within fifteen strokes of 
striking the right time, and whose hands always hitched 
together at twenty-two minutes past anything and traveled 
in company the rest of the way home. 

“Remarkable clock !” said Sellers, and got up and wound 
it. “I’v^e been offered—well, I wouldn’t expect you to 
believe what I’ve been offered for that clock. Old Gov. 
Hager never sees me but he says, ‘ Come, now. Colonel, name 
your price —must have that clock ! ’ But my goodness I’d 

as soon think of selling my wife. As I was saying to- 

silence in the court, now, she’s begun to strike! You can’t 
talk against her—you have to just be patient and hold up till 
she’s said her say. Ah—well, as I was saying, when—she’s 



80 


“ HAIN’T YOU FATHER?” 


beginning again! ^Tineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty- 

two, twen-ah, that’s all.—Yes, as I was saying to old 

Judge-go it, old girl, don’t mind me.—^^ow how is that ? 

•—isn’t that a good, spirited tone ? She can wake the dead ! 
Sleep ? Why you might as well try to sleep in a thunder- 
factory. Now just listen at that. She’ll strike a hundred 
and fifty, now, without stopping,—^you’ll see. There ain’t 
another clock like that in Christendom.” 

Washington hoped that this might be true, for the din was 
distracting—though the family, one and all, seemed filled 
with joy; and the more the clock ‘^buckled down to her 
work” as the Colonel expressed it, and the more insupport¬ 
able the clatter became, the more enchanted they all appeared 
to be. When there was silence, Mrs Sellers lifted upon Wash¬ 
ington a face that beamed with a childlike pride, and said: 

“ It belonged to his grandmother.” 

The look and the tone were a plain call for admiring sur • 
prise, and therefore Washington said—(it was the only thii],^<’j 
that offered itself at the moment:) 

“ Indeed I ” 

“Yes, it did, didn’t it father!” exclaimed one of thie 
twins. “ She was my great-grandmother—and George’s too ; 
wasn’t she, father! You never saw her, but Sis has seen her, 
when Sis was a baby—didn’t you. Sis! Sis has seen her 
most a hundred times. She was awful deef—she’s dead, 
now. Ain’t she, father!” 

All the children chimed in, now, with one general Babel 
of information about deceased—nobody offering to read the 
riot act or seeming to discountenance the insurrection or dis¬ 
approve of it in any way—but the head twin drowned all the 
turmoil and held his own against the field: 

“ It’s our clock, now—and it’s got wheels inside of it, and 
a thing that flutters every time she strikes—don’t it, father! 
Great-grandmother died before hardly any of us was born—- 
she was an Old-School Baptist and had warts all over her— 
you ask father if she didn’t. She had an uncle once that was 
bald-headed and used to have fits; he wasn’t our uncle, I 
don’t know what he was to us—some kin or another I reckon 





a trifle closer to the stove, and the consequence was, he 
tripped the supporting poker and the stove-door tum¬ 
bled to the floor. And then there was a revelation—there 


THE COLONEL’S CHEEREUL FIRESIDE. 81 

—father’s seen him a thousand times—hain’t you, father! 
We used to have a calf that et apples and just chawed up 
dishrags like nothing, and if you stay here you’ll see lots of 
funerals—won’t he. Sis ! Did you ever see a house afire ? 

I have ! Once me and Jim Terry-” 

But Sellers began to speak now, and the storm ceased. He 
began to tell about an enormous speculation he was thinking 
of embarking some capital in— a speculation which some Lon¬ 
don bankers had been over to consult with him about—and 
soon he wms building glittering pyramids of coin, and Wash¬ 
ington was presently growing opulent under the magic of his 
eloquence. But at the same time Washington was not able 
to ignore the cold entirely. He was nearly as close to the 
stove as he could get, and yet he could not persuade himself 
that he felt the slightest heat, notwithstanding the isinglass 
door w^as still gently and serenely glowing. He tried to get 
















82 


A NEW CURE EOR THE RHEUMATISM. 


was nothing in the stove hut a lighted tallow-candle! 

The poor youth blushed and felt as if he must die with 
shame. But the Colonel was only disconcerted for a moment 
—he straightway found his voice again: 

“A little idea of my own, Washington—one of the great¬ 
est things in the world! You must write and tell your father 
about it—don’t forget that, now. I have been reading up 
some European Scientific reports—friend of mine. Count Fu- 
gier, sent them to me—sends me all sorts of things from 
Paris—he thinks the world of me, Eugier does. Well, I saw 
that the Academy of France had been testing the properties 
of heat, and they came to the conclusion that it was a non¬ 
conductor or something like that, and of course its influence 
must necessarily be deadly in nervous organizations with ex¬ 
citable temperaments, especially where there is any tendency 
toward rheumatic affections. Bless you I saw in a moment 
what w^as the matter with us, and says I, out goes your fires! 
—no more slow torture and certain death for me, sir. What 
you want is the appearance of heat, not the heat itself—that’s 
the idea. Well how to do it was the next thing. I just put 
my head to work, pegged away a couple of days, and here 
you are! Bheumatism ? AVhy a man can’t any more start 
a case of rheumatism in this house than he can shake an 
opinion out of a mummy ! Stove with a candle in it and a 
transparent door—that’s it—it has been the salvation of this 
family. Don’t you fail to write your father about it, Wash¬ 
ington. And tell him the idea is mine—I’m no more con¬ 
ceited than most people, I reckon, but you know it is human 
nature for a man to want credit for a thing like that.” 

Washington said with his blue lips that he would, but he 
said in his secret heart that he would promote no such in¬ 
iquity. He tried to believe in the healthfulness of the in¬ 
vention, and succeeded tolerably well; but after all he could 
not feel that good health in a frozen body was any real im¬ 
provement on the rheumatism. 


CHAPTER YIIL 


—Whan ]73 horde is thynne, as of seruyse, 

Nought replenesshed with grete diuersite 
Of mete & drinke, good chere may then suflSse 

With honest talkyng- 

The Book of Ciirtesye. 

Mammon. Come on, sir. Now, you set your foot on shore 
In Novo Orbe ; here’s the rich Peru : 

And there within, sir, are the golden mines, 

Great Solomon’s Ophir!- B. Jomon. 

T EIE Slipper at Col. Sellers’s was not sumptuous, in the 
beginning, but it improved on acquaintance. That is to 
say, that what Washington regarded at first sight as mere 
lowly potatoes, presently became awe-inspiring agricultural 
productions that had been reared in some ducal garden 
beyond the sea, under the sacred eye of the duke himself, 
who had sent them to Sellers; the bread was from corn 
which could be grown in only one favored locality in the 
earth and only a favored few could get it; the Rio coflee, 
which at first seemed execrable to the taste, took to itself an 
improved flavor when Washington was told to drink it slowly 
and not hurry what should be a lingering luxury in order to 
be fully appreciated—it was from the private stores of a 
Brazilian nobleman with an unrememberable name. The 
Colonel’s tongue was a magician’s wand that turned dried 
apples into figs and water into wine as easily as it could change 
a hovel into a palace and present poverty into imminent 
future riches. 

Washington slept in a cold bed in a carpetless room and 
woke up in a palace in the morning; at least the palace lin¬ 
gered during the moment that he was rubbing his eyes and 
getting his bearings—and then it disappeared and he recog- 

83 





84: 


PKODIGIOUS OPERATIONS. 


nized that the Coloners inspiring talk had been influencing 
his dreams. Fatigue had made him sleep late; when he 
entered the sitting room he noticed that the old hair-cloth 
sofa was absent; when he sat down to breakfast the Colonel 
tossed six or seven dollars in bills on the table, counted them 
over, said he was a little short and must call upon his banker; 
then returned the bills to his wallet with the indilferent air 
of a man who is used to money. The breakfast was not an 
improvement upon the supper, but the Colonel talked it up 
and transformed it into an oriental feast. Bye and bye, he 
said: 

‘‘I intend to look out for you, Washington, my boy. T 
hunted up a place for you yesterday, but I am not referring 
to that, now—that is a mere livelihood—mere bread and but¬ 
ter ; but when I say I mean to look out for you I mean some 
thing very diflerent. I mean to put things in your way tha)t 
will make a mere livelihood a trifling thing. I’ll put you in 
a way to make more money than you’ll ever know what to do 
with. You’ll be right here where I can put my hand on you 
when anything turns up. I’ve got some prodigious opera¬ 
tions on foot; but I’m keeping quiet; mum’s the word; 
your old hand don’t go around pow-wowing and letting every¬ 
body see his k’yards and find out his little game. But all in 
good time, Washington, all in good time. You’ll see. How 
there’s an operation in corn that looks well. Some Hew 
York men are trying to get me to go into it—buy up all the 
growing crops and just boss the market when they mature— 
ah I tell you it’s a great thing. And it only costs a trifle; 
two millions or two and a half will do it. I haven’t exactly 
promised yet—there’s no hurry—the more indiflerent I seem, 
you know, the more anxious those fellows will get. And 
then there is the hog speculation—that’s bigger still. We’ve 
got quiet men at work,” [he was very impressive here,] 
‘‘ mousing around, to get propositions out of all the farmers 
in the whole west and northwest for the hog crop, and other 
agents quietly getting propositions and terms out of all the 
manufactories—and don’t you see, if we can get all the hogs 



THE HORSE TO BET ON. 85 

and all the slaughter houses into our hands on the dead quiet 
—whew ! it would take three ships to carry the money.—I Ve 
looked into the thing—calculated all the chances for and all 
the chances against, and though I shake my head and hesitate 
and keep on thinking, apparently, IVe got my mind made up 
that if the thing can be done on a capital of six millions, 
that’s the horse to put up money on! Why Washington— 
but what’s the use of talking about it—any man can see that 


BIG THINGS SHOWN UP. 

there’s whole Atlantic oceans of cash in it, gulfs and bays 
thrown in. But there’s a bigger thing than that, yet—a big¬ 
ger-” 

“Why Colonel, you can’t want anything bigger!” said 
Washington, his eyes blazing. “ Oh, I wish I could go into 
either of those speculations—I only wish I had money—I 
wish I wasn’t cramped and kept down and fettered with pov¬ 
erty, and such prodigious chances lying right here in sight! 
Oh, it is a fearful thing to be poor. But don’t throw away 
those things—they are so splendid and I can see how sure 








86 


THE ROTHSCHILD’S PROPOSITION. 


they are. Don’t throw them away for something still better 
and maybe fail in it! I wouldn’t, Colonel. I would stick to 
these. I wish father were here and were his old self again 
—Oh, he never in his life had such chances as these are. 
Colonel, you carCt improve on these—no man can improve 
on them! ” 

A sweet, compassionate smile played about the Colonel’s 
features, and he leaned over the table with the air of a man 
who is‘‘going to show you” and doit without the least 
trouble; 

“Why Washington, my boy, these things are nothing. 
They look large—of course they look large to a novice, but to 
a man who has been all his life accustomed to large oper¬ 
ations—shaw ! They’re well enough to while away an idle 
hour with, or furnish a bit of employment that will give a 
trifle of idle capital a chance to earn its bread while it is waiting 
for something to do^ but—now just listen a moment—just 
let me give you an idea of what we old veterans of commerce 
call ‘ business.’ Here’s the Hothschild’s proposition—this is 
between you and me, you understand-” 

Washington nodded three or four times impatiently, and 
his glowing eyes said, “Yes, yes—hurry—I under¬ 
stand-” 

-“for I wouldn’t have it get out for a fortune. They 

want me to go in with them on the sly—agent was here two 
weeks ago about it—go in on the sly ” [voice down to an im¬ 
pressive whisper, now,] “ and buy up a hundred and thirteen 
wild cat banks in Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, Illinois and Mis¬ 
souri—notes of these banks are at all sorts of discount now 
—average discount of the hundred and thirteen is forty-four 
per cent —buy them all up, you see, and then all of a sudden 
let the cat out of the bag! Whiz ! the stock of every one of 
those wildcats would spin up to a tremendous premium before 
you could turn a handspring—profit on the speculation not a 
dollar less than forty millions ! ” [An eloquent pause, while 
the marvelous vision settled into W.’s focus.] “ Where’s your 
hogs now 1 Why my dear innocent boy, we would just sit 





FAST TOQBTHICR 




i 























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A SMALL IDEA. 87 

down on the front door-steps and peddle banks like lucifer 
matches! ” 

Washington finally got his breath and said : 

‘‘Oh, it is perfectly wonderful! Why couldn’t these 
things have happened in father’s day ? And I—it’s of no 
use—they simply lie before my face and mock me. There 
is nothing for me but to stand helpless and see other people 
reap the astonishing harvest.” 

“ I^ever mrnd, AYashington, don’t you worry. I’ll fix you. 
There’s plenty of chances. How much money have you 
got ? ” 

In the presence of so many millions, Washington could not 
keep from blushing when he had to confess that he had but 
eighteen dollars in the world. 

“AVell, all right—don’t despair. Other people have been 
obliged to begin with less. I have a small idea that may de¬ 
velop into something for us both, all in good time. Keep 
your money close and add to it. I’ll make it breed. I’ve 
been experimenting (to pass awa}^ the time,) on a little pre¬ 
paration for curing sore eyes—-a kind of decoction nine-tenths 
water and the other tenth drugs that don’t cost more than a 
dollar a barrel; I’m still experimenting; there’s one ingre¬ 
dient wanted yet to perfect the thing, and somehow I can’t 
just manage to hit upon the thing that’s necessary, and I 
don’t dare talk with a chemist, of course. But I’m progress¬ 
ing, and before many weeks I wager the country will ring 
with the fame of Beriah Sellers’ Infallible Imperial Oriental 
Optic Liniment and Salvation for Sore Eyes—the Medical 
AVonder of the Age! Small bottles fifty cents, large ones a 
dollar. Average cost, five and seven cents for the two sizes. 
The first year sell, say, ten thousand bottles in Missouri, 
seven thousand in Iowa, three thousand in Arkansas, four 
thousand in Kentucky, six thousand in Illinois, and say 
twenty-five thousand in the rest of the country. Total, fifty- 
five thousand bottles; profit clear of all expenses, twenty 
thousand dollars at the very lowest calculation. All the 
capital needed is to manufacture the first two thousand bottles 


88 


SALVATION FOR SORE EYES. 


—saj a hundred and fifty dollars—then the money would 
begin to fiow in. The second year, sales would reach 200,000 
bottles—clear profit, say, $Y5,000—and in the meantime the 
great factory would be building in St. Louis, to cost, say, 
$100,000. The third year we could easily sell 1,000,000 

bottles in the United States and-” 

0, splendid ! ” said Washington. “ Let’s commence right 
away—let’s-- ” 

“-1,000,000 bottles in the United States—profit at 

least $350,000—and then it would begin to' be time to turn 
our attention toward the real idea of the business.” 

“ The real idea of it! Ain’t $350,000 a year a pretty 
real-” 

‘‘ Stuff! Why what an infant you are, Washington—^what 
a guileless, short-sighted, easily-contented innocent you are, 
my poor little country-bred know-nothing! Would I go to 
all that trouble and bother for the poor crumbs a body might 
pick up in this country ? Uow do I look like a man who— 
does my history suggest that I am a man who deals in trifies, 
contents himself with the narrow horizon that hems in the 
common herd, sees no further than the end of his nose? 
Now you know that that is not me—couldn’t he me. You 
ought to know that if I throw my time and abilities into a 
patent medicine, it’s a patent medicine whose field of oper¬ 
ations is the solid earth! its clients the swarming 
nations that inhabit it! Why what is the republic 
of America for an eye-water country ? Lord bless you, 
it is nothing but a barren highway that you’ve got 
to cross to get to the true eye-water market! Why, W ash- 
ington, in the Oriental countries people swarm like the sands 
of the desert; every square mile of ground upholds its thou¬ 
sands upon thousands of struggling human creatures—and 
every separate and individual devil of them’s got the ophthal¬ 
mia ! It’s as natural to them as noses are—and sin. It’s born 
wuth them, it stays wuth them, it’s all that some of them have 
left when they die. Three years of introductory trade in the 
orient and what will be the result ? Why, our headquarters 






WASHINGTON FASCINATED. 


89 


would be in Constantinople and oiir hindquarters in Further 
India! Factories and warehouses in Cairo, Ispahan, Bagdad, 
Damascus, Jerusalem, Yedo, Peking, Bangkok, Delhi, Bom¬ 
bay and Calcutta! Annual income—^well, God only knows 
how many millions and millions apiece ! ” 

Washington was so dazed, so bewildered—^liis heart and his 



COL. SELLERS BLOWING BUBBLES FOR WASHINGTON. 


eyes had wandered so far away among the strange landb 
beyond the seas, and such avalanches of coin and currency 
had diittered and jingled confusedly down before him, that 
he was now as one who has been whirling round and round 
for a time, and, stopping all at once, finds his surroundings 
still whirling and all objects a dancing chaos. However, 
little by little the Sellers family cooled down and crystalized 
into shape, and the j)oor room lost its glitter and resumed its 
poverty. Then the youth found his voice and begged Sellers 
to drop everything and hurry up the eye-water; and he got 
his eighteen dollars and tried to force it upon the Colonel— 
pleaded with him to take it—implored him to do it. But 
the Colonel would not; said he would not need the capital 
(in his native magnificent way he called that eighteen dollars 





90 


UP IN A BALLOON. 


Capital) till the eye-water was an accomplished fact. He 
made Washington easy in his mind, though, by promising 
that he would call for it just as soon as the invention was 
finished, and he added the glad tidings that nobody but just 
they two should be admitted to a share in the speculation. 

' When Washington left the breakfast table he could have 
worshiped that man. Washington was one of that kind of 
people whose hopes are in the very clouds one day and in the 
gutter the next. He walked on air, now. The Colonel was 
ready to take him around and introduce him to the employ¬ 
ment he had found for him, but Washington begged for a 
few moments in which to write home; with his kind of peo¬ 
ple, to ride to-day’s new interest to death and put off yester¬ 
day’s till another time, is nature itself. He ran up stairs and 
wrote glowingly, enthusiastically, to his mother about the 
hogs and the corn, the banks and the eye-water—and added a 
few inconsequential millions to each project. And he said 
that people little dreamed what a man Col. Sellers was, and 
that the world would open its eyes wdien it found out. And 
he closed his letter thus: 

“So make yourself perfectly easy, mother—in a little ■while you shall have 
everything you want, and more. I am not likely to stint you in anything, I 
fancy. This money will not be for me, alone, but for all of us. I want all to 
share alike; and there is going to be far more for each than one person can 
spend. Break it to father cautiously—you understand the need of that—break 
it to him cautiously, for he has had such cruel hard fortune, and is so stricken 
by it that great good news might prostrate him more surely than even bad, for 
he is used to the bad but is grown sadly unaccustomed to the other. Tell Laura 
—tell all the children. And write to Clay about it if he is not with you yet. 
Tou may tell Clay that whatever I get he can freely share in—freely. He knows 
that that is true—there will be no need that I should swear to that to make him 
believe it. Good-bye—and mind what I say: Best perfectly easy, one and all 
of you, for our troubles are nearly at an end.” 

Poor lad, be could not know that bis mother would cry 
some loving, compassionate tears over bis letter and put oft 
tbe family witli a synopsis of its contents wbicb conveyed a 
deal of love to tbeni but not mucb idea of bis prospects or 
projects. And be never dreamed tliat sucb a joyful letter 
could sadden ber and fill ber nigbt with sigbs, and troubled* 


GENERAL BOSWELL. 


91 


thoughts, and hodings of the future, instead of filling it with 
peace and blessing it with restful sleep. 

When the letter was done, Washington and the Colonel 
sallied forth, and as they walked along Washington learned 
what he was to be. He was to be a clerk in a real estate 
office. Instantly the fickle youth’s dreams forsook the magic 
eye-water and flew back to the Tennessee Land. And the 
gorgeous possibilities of that great domain straightway began 
to occupy his imagination to such a degree that he could 
scarcely manage to keep even enough of his attention upon 
the Colonel’s talk to retain the general run of what he was 
saying. He was glad it was a real estate office—he was a 
made man now, sure. 

The Colonel said that General Boswell was a rich man and 
had a good and growing business; and that Washington’s 
work would be light and he would get forty dollars a month 
and be boarded and lodged in the General’s family—which 
was as good as ten dollars more; and even better, for he 
could not live as well even at the City Hotel ” as he would 



gen’l Boswell’s office. 


there, and yet the hotel charged fifteen dollars a month where 
a man had a good room. 

General Boswell was in his office; a comfortable looking 
place, with plenty of outline maps hanging about the walls 






























92 


LOOKS LIKE BUSINESS. 


and in the windows, and a spectacled man w^as marking out 
another one on a long table. The office was in the principal 
street. The General received Washington with a kindly but 
reserved politeness. W ashington rather liked his looks. He 
was about fifty years old, dignified, well preserved and well 
dressed. After the Colonel took his leave, the General 
talked a while with Washington—his talk consisting chiefly 
of instructions about the clerical duties of the place. He 
seemed satisfied as to Washington’s ability to take care of 
the books, he was evidently a pretty fair theoretical book¬ 
keeper, and experience would soon harden theory into prac¬ 
tice. By and by dinner-time came, and the two walked to 
the General’s house; and now Washington noticed an instinct 
in himself that moved him to keep not in the General’s rear, 
exactly, but yet not at his side—somehow the old gentleman’s 
dignity and reserve did not inspire familiarity. 


PORK PACKING 



























CHAPTER IX. 


Quando ti veddi per la prima volta, 

Parse che mi s’aprisse il paradise, 

E venissano gli angioli a un per volta 
Tutti ad apporsi sopra al tuo bel viso, 

Tutti ad apporsi sopra il tuo bel volto, 

M’in eaten asti, e non mi so’anco sciolto— 

Y-omohmi hoka, himak a yakni il®pp®t immi ha chi ho— 

—Tajma kitt6rnaminut inneiziungnaerame, isikkaene sinikbingmun illi^j, an- 
nerningaerdlunilo siurdliminut piok. Mos. Agl. Siurdl. 49.33. 

W ASHINGTOI^ dreamed his way along the street, his 
fancy flitting from grain to hogs, from hogs to 
banks, from banks to eye-water, from eye-water to Tennessee 
Land, and lingering but a feverish moment upon each of 
these fascinations. He was conscious of but one outward 
thing, to wit, the General, and he was really not vividly con¬ 
scious of him. 

Arrived at the flnest dwelling in the town, they entered it 
and were at home. Washington was introduced to Mrs. 
Boswell, and his imagination was on the point of flitting into 
the vapory realms of speculation again, when a lovely girl of 
sixteen or seventeen came in. This vision swept Washing¬ 
ton’s mind clear of its chaos of glittering rubbish in an in¬ 
stant. Beauty had fascinated him before; many times he had 
been in love—even for weeks at a time with the same object 
'—but his heart had never suffered so sudden and so fierce an 
assault as this, within his recollection. 

Louise Boswell occupied his mind and drifted among his 
multiplication tables ali the afternoon. He was constantly 
catching himself in a ro-^-erie—reveries made up of recalling 
how she looked when first burst upon him ; how her voice 
thrilled him when flrst spoke ; how charmed the very air 
seemed by her presence. Blissful as the afternoon was, de¬ 
livered up to such a revel as this, it seemed an eternity, so 

93 


94 


FALLING IN LOVE. 


impatient was lie to see the girl again. Other afternoons like 
it followed. Washington plunged into this love affair as he 
plunged into everything else—upon impulse and without re¬ 
flection. As the days went by it seemed plain that he was 
growing in favor with Louise,—not sweepingly so, but yet 
perceptibly, he fancied. His attentions to her troubled her 
father and mother a little, and they warned Louise, without 
stating particulars or making allusions to any special person, 
that a girl was sure to make a mistake who allowed herself 
to marry anybody but a man who could support her well. 

Some instinct taught Washington that his present lack of 
money would be an obstruction, though possibly not a bar, to 
his hopes, and straightway his poverty became a torture to 
him which cast all his former sufferings under that head into 
the shade. He longed for riches now as he had never longed 
for them before. 

He had been once or twice to dine with Col. Sellers, and had 
been discouraged to note that the Colonel’s bill of fare was 
falling off both in quantity and quality—a sign, he feared, 
that the lacking ingredient in the eye-water still remained 
undiscovered—though Sellers alw^ays explained that these 
changes in the family diet had been ordered by the doctor, or 
suggested by some new scientific work the Colonel had stum¬ 
bled upon. But it always turned out that the lacking ingre¬ 
dientstill lacking—though it always appeared, at the 
same time, that the Colonel was right on its heels. 

Every time the Colonel came into the real estate office 
Washington’s heart bounded and his eyes lighted with hope, 
but it always turned out that the Colonel was merely on the 
scent of some vast, undefined landed speculation—although 
he was customarily able to say that he was nearer to the all¬ 
necessary ingredient than ever, and could almost name the 
hour when success would dawn. And then Washington’s 
heart would sink again and a sigh would tell when it touched 
bottom. 

About this time a letter came, saying that Judge Hawkins 
had been ailing for a fortnight, and was now considered to 


MISFORTUNES PROVE RLESSINGS IN DISGUISE. 95 


be seriously ill. It was thought best that W ashington should 
come home. The news filled him with grief, for he loved 
and honored his father; the Boswells were touched by the 
youth’s sorrow, and even the General unbent and said en¬ 
couraging things to him.—There w^as balm in this; but when 



CONSOLATION. 


Louise bade him good-bye, and shook his hand and said, 

Don’t be cast down—it will all come out right—I know it 
will all come out right,” it seemed a blessed thing to be in 
misfortune, and the tears that welled up to his eyes were the 
messengers of an adoring and a grateful heart; and when 
the girl saw them and answering tears came into her own 
eyes, Washington could hardly contain the excess of happi¬ 
ness that poured into the cavities of his breast that were so 
lately stored to the roof with grief. 

All the way home he nursed his woe and exalted it. He 
pictured himself as she must be picturing him; a noble, 
struggling young spirit persecuted by misfortune, but 
bravely and patiently waiting in the shadow of a dread calamity 


















96 


NIGHT WATCHES. 


and preparing to meet the blow as became one who was 
all too used to hard fortune and the pitiless buffetings of fate. 
These thoughts made him weep, and weep more broken- 
heartedly than ever; and he wished that she could see his 
, suiferings now. 

There was nothing significant in the fact that Louise, 
dreamy and distraught, stood at her bedroom bureau, that 
night, scribbling “Washington” here and there over a sheet 
of paper. But there was something significant in the fact 
that she scratched the word out every time she wrote it; 
examined the erasure critically to see if anybody could guess 
at what the word had been; then buried it under a maze of 
obliterating lines; and finally, as if still unsatisfied, burned the 
paper. 

When Washington reached home, he recognized at once 
how serious his father’s case was. The darkened room, the 
labored breathing and occasional moanings of the patient, 
the tip-toeing of the attendants and their whispered consulta¬ 
tions, were full of sad meaning. For three or four nights 
Mrs. Hawkins and Laura had been watching by the bedside; 
Clay had arrived, preceding Washington by one day, and ho 
was now added to the corps of watchers. Mr. Hawkins 
would have none but these three, though neighborly assist¬ 
ance was offered by old friends. From this time forth three- 
hour watches were instituted, and day and night the watch¬ 
ers kept their vigils. By degrees Laura and her mother began 
to show wear, but neither of them would yield a minute of 
their tasks to Clay.—He ventured once to let the midnight 
hour pass without calling Laura, but he ventured no more; 
there was that about her rebuke when he tried to explain, 
that taught him that to let her sleep when she might be min¬ 
istering to her father’s needs, was to rob her of moments that 
were priceless in her eyes; he perceived that she regarded it 
as a privilege to watch, not a burden. And he had noticed, 
also, that when midnight struck, the patient turned his eyes 
toward the door, with an expectancy in them which presently 
grew into a longing but brightened into contentment as soon 


DEATH AT THE DOOR. 97 

as the door opened and Laura appeared. And he did not 
need Laura’s rebuke when he heard his father say: 

Clay is good, and you are tired, poor child; but I wanted 
you so.” 

“ Clay is not good, father—he did not call me. I would 
not have treated him ^o. How could you do it. Clay ? ” 

Clay begged forgiveness and promised not to break faith 
again; and as he betook him to his bed, he said to himself. 

It’s a steadfast little soul; whoever thinks he is doing the 
Duchess a kindness by intimating that she is not sufficient for 
any undertaking she puts her hand to, makes a mistake; and 
if I did not know it before, I know now that there are surer 
ways of pleasing her than by trying to lighten her labor when 
that labor consists in wearing herself out for the sake of a 
person she loves.” 

A week drifted by, and all the while the patient sank lower 
and lower. The night drew on that was to end all suspense. 
It was a wintry one. The darkness gathered, the snow was 
falling, the wind wailed plaintively about the house or shook 
it with fitful gusts. The doctor had paid his last visit and 
gone away with that dismal remark to the nearest friend of 
the family that he ‘‘ believed there was nothing more that he 
could do ”—a remark which is always overheard by some one 
it is not meant for and strikes a lingering half-conscious hope 
dead with a withering shock; the medicine phials had been 
removed from the bedside and put out of sight, and all things 
made orderly and meet for the solemn event that was impend¬ 
ing; the patient, with closed eyes, lay scarcely breathing; 
the watchers sat by and wiped the gathering damps from his 
forehead while the silent tears fiowed down their faces; the 
deep hush was only interrupted by sobs from the children, 
grouped about the bed. 

After a time,—it was toward midnight now—Mr. Hawkins 
roused out of a doze, looked about him and was evidently 
trying to speak. Instantly Laura lifted his head and in a 
failing voice he said, while something of the old light shone 
in his eyes: 

“Wife—children—come nearer-—nearer. The darkness 


98 


THE OLD FAITH STILL TRIUMPHANT 


grows. Let me see you all, once more.’’ 

The group closed together at the bedside, awd their tears 
and sobs came now without restraint. 

“I am leaving you in cruel poverty, j. have been—so 
foolish—so short-sighted. But courage^ A better day is— 
is coming. Never lose sight of the Tennessee Land! Be 
wary. There is wealth stored up for you there—wealth that 
is boundless! The children shall hold up their heads with 
the best in the land, yet. Where are the papers?—Have 
you got the papers safe ? Show them—show tliem to me ! ” 
Under his strong excitement his voice had gathered power 
and his last sentences were spoken with scarcely a perceptible 
halt or hindrance. With an effort he had raised himself 
almost without assistance to a sitting posture. But now- the 



THE DYING FATHER. 


fire faded out of his eyes and he fell back exhausted. The 
papers were brought and held before him, and the answering 
smile that flitted across his face showed that he was satisfied. 
He closed his eyes, and the signs of approaching dissolution 
















ALL OVER. 


99 


multiplied rapidly. He lay almost motionless for a little 
while, then suddenly partly raised his head and looked about 
h;im as one who peers into a dim uncertain light. He mut¬ 
tered : 

“ Gone ? Ho—I see you—still. It is—it is—over. But 
you are—safe. Safe. The Ten-” 

The voice died out in a whisper; the sentence was never 
finished. The emaciated fingers began to pick at the cover¬ 
let, a fatal sign. After a time there were no sounds but the 
cries of the mourners within and the gusty turmoil of the 
wind without. Laura had bent down and kissed her father’s 
lips as the spirit left the body; but she did not sob, or utter 
any ejaculation ; her tears fiowed silently. Then she closed 
the dead eyes, and crossed the hands upon the breast; after 
a season, she kissed the forehead reverently, drew the sheet 
up over the face, and then walked apart and sat down wuth 
the look of one wdio is done with life and has no further 
interest in its joys and sorrows, its hopes or its ambitions. 
Glay buried his face in the coverlet of the bed; wdien the 
other children and the mother realized that death was indeed 
come at last, they threw themselves into each others’ arms 
and gave way to a frenzy of grief. 







CHAPTER X. 


^-Okarbigalo: “ Kia pannigdtit ? Assarsara ! uamnut nevsoingoarna 

Mo. Agleg. Siurdl. 24 . 23 . 

Nootah nuttaunes, natwontash 
Kukkeihtash, wonk yeuyeu 
Wanaanum kummissinninnumog 
Kak Koosh week pannuppu, 

—La Giannetta rispose: Madama, voi dalla poverta di mio padre togliendomi, 
come figliuola cresciuta m’avete, e per questo agni vostro piacer far dovrei— 

Boccado^ Decam. Giom. 2 , Nov. 6 . 


O RLY two or three days had elapsed since the funeral, 
when something happened which was to change the 
drift of Laura’s life somewhat, and influence in a greater or 
lesser degree the formation of her character. 

Major Lackland had once been a man of note in the State 
—a man of extraordinary natural ability and as extraordinary 
learning. He had been universally trusted and honored in 
his day, but had finally fallen into misfortune; while serving 
his third term in Congress, and while upon the point of being 
elevated to the Senate—which was considered the summit of 
earthly aggrandizement in those days—he had yielded to 
temptation, when in distress for money wherewith to save 
his estate, and sold his vote. His crime was discovered, and 
his fall followed instantly. Nothing could reinstate him in 
the confidence of the people, his ruin was irretrievable—his 
disgrace complete. All doors were closed against him, all 
men avoided liim. After years of skulking retirement and 
dissipation, death had relieved him of his troubles at last, and 
his funeral followed close upon that of Mr. Hawkins. He 
died as he had latterly lived—wholly alone and friendless. 
He had no relatives—or if he had they did not acknowledge 
him. The coroner’s jury found certain memoranda upon his 

100 




f 







LAURA SEARCHING FOR EVIDENCES OF HER BIRTH* 








\ 






























































































































































































































SEARCH FOR A FATHER. 


101 


body and about the premises which revealed a fact not sus¬ 
pected by the villagers before—viz., that Laura was not the 
child of Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins. 

The gossips were soon at work. They were but little 
hampered by the fact that the memoranda referred to betrayed 
nothing but the bare circumstance that Laura’s real parents 
were unknown, and stopped there. So far from being 
hampered by this, the gossips seemed to gain all the more 
freedom from it. They supplied all the missing information 
themselves, they filled up all the blanks. The town soon 
teemed with histories of Laura’s origin and secret history, no 
two versions precisely alike, but all elaborate, exhaustive, 
mysterious and interesting, and all agreeing in one vital par¬ 
ticular—to wit, that there was a suspicious cloud about her 
birth, not to say a disreputable one. 

Laura began to encounter cold looks, averted eyes. and 
peculiar nods and gestures which perplexed her beyond 
measure; but presently the pervading gossip found its way 
to her, and she understood them then. Her pride was stung. 
She was astonished, and at first incredulous. She was about 
to ask her mother if there was any truth in these reports, but 
upon second thought held her peace. She soon gathered 
that Major Lackland’s memoranda seemed to refer to letters 
which had passed between himself and Judge Hawkins. She 
shaped her course without difficulty the day that that hint 
reached her. 

That night she sat in her room till all was still, and then 
she stole into the garret and began a search. She rummaged 
long among boxes of musty papers relating to business mat¬ 
ters of no interest to her, but at last she found several bun¬ 
dles of letters. One bundle was marked “ private,” and in 
that she found what she wanted. She selected six or eight 
letters from the package and began to devour their contents, 
heedless of the cold. 

By the dates, these letters were from five to seven years 
old. They were all from Major Lackland to Mr. Hawkins. 
The substance of them was, that some one in the east had 


102 


WHO AM I ? 


been inquiring of Major Lackland about a lost child and its 
parents, and that it was conjectured that the child might be 
Laura. 

Evidently some of the letters were missing, for the name 
of the inquirer was not mentioned; there was a casual refer¬ 
ence to ‘Hhis handsome-featured aristocratic gentleman,” as 
if the reader and the writer were accustomed to speak of him 
and knew who was meant. 

In one letter the Major said he agreed with Mr. Hawkins 
that the inquirer seemed not altogether on the wrong track; 
but he also agreed that it would be best to keep quiet until 
more convincing developments were forthcoming. 

Another letter said that “ the poor soul broke completely 
down when he saw Laura’s picture, and declared it must be 
she.” 

• Still another said, 

“ He seems entirely alone in the world, and his heart is so wrapped up in this 
thing that I believe that if it proved a false hope, it would kill him; I have per¬ 
suaded him to wait a little while and go west when I go.” 

Another letter had this paragraph in it: 

“ He is better one day and worse the next, and is out of his mind a good deal 
of the time. Lately his case has developed a something which is a wonder to 
the hired nurses, but which will not be much of a marvel to you if you have read 
medical philosophy much. It is this : his lost memory returns to him when he 
is delirious, and goes away again when he is himself—just as old Canada Joe 
used to talk the French patois of his boyhood in the delirium of typhus fever, 
though he could not do it when his mind was clear. Now this poor gentleman’s 
memory has always broken down before he reached the explosion of the steamer; 
he could only remember starting up the river with his wife and child, and he had 
an idea that there was a race, but he was not certain; he could not name the 
boat he was on ; there was a dead blank of a month or more that supplied not an 
item to his recollection. It was not for me to assist him, of course. But now 
in his delirium it all comes out: the names of the boats, every incident of the 
explosion, and likewise the details of his astonishing escape—that is, up to where, 
just as a yawl-boat was approaching him (he was clinging to the starboard wheel 
of the burning wreck at the time), a falling timber struck him on the head. But 
I will write out his wonderful escape in full to-morrow or next day. Of course 
the physicians will not let me tell him now that our Laura is indeed his child— 
that must come later, when his health is thoroughly restored. His case is not 
considered dangerous at all; he will recover presently, the doctors say. But 
they insist that he must travel a little when he gets well—they recommend a 


MYSTEEY AND ROMANCE. 


103 


short sea voyage, and they say he can be persuaded to try it if we continue to 
keep him in ignorance and promise to let him see L. as soon as he returns.” 

The letter that bore the latest date of all, contained this 
clause: 

“ It is the most unaccountable thing in the world; the mystery remains as 
impenetrable as ever; I have hunted high and low for him, and inquired of every¬ 
body, but in vain; all trace of him ends at that hotel in New York ; I never have 
seen or heard of him since, up to this day; he could hardly have sailed, for his 
name does not appear upon the books of any shipping office in New York or 
Boston or Baltimore. How fortunate it seems, now, that we kept this thing to 
ourselves; Laura still has a father in you, and it is better for her that we drop 
this subject here forever.” 

That was all. Random remarks here and there, being 
pieced together gave Laura a vague impression of a man of 
line presence, about forty-three or forty-live years of age, 
with dark hair and eyes, and a slight limp in his walk—it 
was not stated which leg was defective. And this indistinct 
shadow represented her father. She made an exhaustive 
search for the missing letters, but found none. They had 
probably been burned; and she doubted not that the ones 
she had ferreted out would have shared the same fate if Mr. 
Hawkins had not been a dreamer, void of method, whose 
mind was perhaps in a state of conflagration over some bright 
new speculation when he received them. 

She sat long, with the lettem in her lap, thinking—and 
unconsciously freezing. She felt like a lost person who has 
traveled down a long lane in good hope of escape, and, just 
as the night descends flnds his progress barred by a bridge¬ 
less river whose further shore, if it has one, is lost in the 
darkness. If she could only have found these letters a month 
sooner! That was her thought. Bnt now the dead had 
carried their secrets with them. A dreary melancholy set¬ 
tled down upon her. An undefined sense of injury crept 
into her heart. She grew very miserable. 

She had just reached the romantic age—the age when 
there is a sad sweetness, a dismal comfort to a girl to find out 
that there is a mystery connected with her birth, which no 
other piece of good luck can afford. She had more than her 


104 


UNEXPECTEDLY A HEROINE. 


rightful share of practical good sense, but still she was 
human; and to be human is to have one’s little modicum of 
romance secreted away in one’s composition. One never 
ceases to make a hero of one’s self, (in private,) during life, 
but only alters the style of his heroism from time to time as 
the drifting years belittle certain gods of liis admiration and 
raise up others in their stead that seem greater. 

The recent wearing days and nights of watching, and the 
wasting grief that had possessed her, combined wdth the pro¬ 
found depression that naturally came with the reaction of 
idleness, made Laura peculiarly susceptible at this time to 
romantic impressions. She was a heroine, now, with a 
mysterious father somewhere. She could not really tell 
whether she wanted to find him and spoil it all or not; but 
still all the traditions of romance pointed to the making the 
attempt as the usual and necessary course to follow ; there¬ 
fore she would some day begin the search when opportunity 
should offer. 

'Now a former thought struck her—she would speak to 
Mrs. Hawkins. And naturally enough Mrs. Hawkins ap¬ 
peared on the stage at that moment. 

She said she knew all—she knew that Laura had discov¬ 
ered the secret that Mr. Llawkins, the elder children. Col. 
Sellers and herself had kept so long and so faithfully; and 
she cried and said that now that troubles had begun they 
would never end; her daughter’s love would wean itself away 
from her and her heart would break. Her grief so wu-ought 
upon Laura that the girl almost forgot her own troubles for 
the moment in her compassion for her mother’s distress. 
Finally Mrs. Hawkins said: 

Speak to me, child—do not forsake me. Forget all this 
miserable talk. Say I am your mother !—I have loved you 
so long, and there is no other. I arn your mother, in the 
sight of God, and nothing shall ever take you from me ! ” 

All barriers fell, before this appeal. Laura put her arms 
about her mother’s neck and said: 

“You are my mother, and always shall be. We will be 


OLD TIES UNRUPTURED. 


105 


as we liave alwaj^s been; and neither this foolish talk nor any 
other thing shall part ns or make us less to each other than 
we are this hour.” 

There was no longer any sense of separation or estrange¬ 
ment bet ween them. Indeed their love seemed more perfect 



EVER TRUE. 


now than it had ever been before. Bv and by they went 
down stairs and sat by the hre and talked long and earnestly 
about Laura’s history and the letters. But it transpired that 
Mrs. Hawkins liad never known of this correspondence 
between her husband and Major Lackland. With his usual 
consideration for his Avife, Mr. Hawkins had shielded her 
from the worry the matter would have caused her. 

Laura went to bed at last with a mind that had gained 
largely in tranquility and had lost correspondingly in mor¬ 
bid romantic exaltation. She w^as pensive, the next day, and 
subdued; but that was not matter for remark, for she did 
not differ from the mournful friends about her in that res¬ 
pect. Clay and Washington were the same loving and 
admirinp* brothers now that they had alwavs been. The 





















106 


VILLAGE GOSSIP. 


great secret was new to some of the younger children, but 
their love suffered no change under the wonderful revelation. 

It is barely possible that things might have presently set¬ 
tled down into their old rut and the mystery have lost the bulk 
of its romantic sublimity in Laura’s eyes, if the village gos¬ 
sips could have quieted down. But they could not quiet down 
and they did not. Day after day they called at the house, 
ostensibly upon visits of condolence, and they pumped away 
at the mother and the children without seeming to know that 
their questionings were in bad taste. They meant no harm 
—they only wanted to know. Yillagers always w^ant to know. 

The family fought shy of the questionings, and of course 
that was high testimony—if the Duchess was respectably 
born, why didn’t they come out and prove it?—why did they 
stick to that poor thin story about picking her up out of a 
steamboat explosion ? ” 

Under this ceaseless persecution, Laura’s morbid self-com- 
muning was renewed. At night the day’s contribution of 
detraction, innuendo and malicious conjecture would be can¬ 
vassed in her mind, and then she would drift into a course of 
thinking. As her thoughts ran on, the indignant tears would 
spring to her eyes, and she would spit out fierce little ejacu¬ 
lations at intervals. Bat finally she would grow calmer and 
say some comforting disdainful thing—something like this: 

“But who are they?—Animals! What are their opinions 
to me ? Let them talk—I will not stoop to be affected by it. 

I could hate-. I^onsense—nobody I care for or in any 

way respect is changed toward me, I fancy.” 

She may have supposed she was thinking of many indi¬ 
viduals, but it was not so—she was thinking of only one. 
And her heart warmed somewhat, too, the while. One day 
a friend overheard a conversation like this:—and naturally 
came and told her all about it: 

“Ned, they say you don’t go there any more. How is 
that?” 

“Well, I don’t; but I tell you it’s not because I don’t want 
to and it’s not because / think it is any matter who her 
father was or who he wasn’t, either; it’s only on account of 



SENTIMENT AND SAUSAGES. 


107 


this talk, talk, talk. I think she is a fine girl every way, and 
so would you if you knew her as well as I do; hut you know 
how it is when a girl once gets talked about—it’s all up with 
her—the world won’t ever let her alone, after that.” 

The only comment Laura made upon this revelation, was: 

“Tiien it appears that if this trouble had not occurred I 
could have had the happiness of Mr. Ned Thurston’s serious 
attentions. He is well favored in person, and well liked, too, 
I believe, and comes of one of the first families of the vil¬ 
lage. He is prosperous, too, I hear; has been a doctor a 
year, now, and has had two patients—no, three, I think; yes, 
it was three. I attended their funerals. Well, other people 
have hoped and been disappointed ; I am not alone in that. 
I wish you could stay to dinner, Maria—we are going to have 
sausages; and besides, I wanted to talk to you about Hawk- 
eye and make you promise to come and see us when we are 
settled there.” 

But Maria could not stay. She had come to mingle roman¬ 
tic tears with Laura’s over the lover’s defection and had found 
herself dealing with a heart that could not rise to an appre¬ 
ciation of afilicrion because its interest was all centred in 
sausages. 

But as soon as Maria was gone, Laura stamped her expres¬ 
sive foot and said: 

“ The coward ! Are all books lies ? I thought he would 
fly to the front, and be brave and noble, and stand up for me 
against all the world, and defy my enemies, and wither these 
gossips with his scorn! Poor crawling thing, let him go. 
I do begin to despise this world ! ” 

She lapsed into thought. Presently she said: 

‘‘ If the time ever comes, and I get a chance. Oh, I’ll-” 

She could not find a word tliat was strong enough, perhaps. 
By and by she said: 

“Well, I am glad of it—I’m glad of it. I never cared 
anything for him anyway ! ” 

And then, with small consistency, she cried a little, and 
patted her foot more indignantly than ever. 



CHAPTER XI. 


T WO months had gone by and the Hawkins family were 
domiciled in Hawkeye. Washington was at work in the 
real estate office again, and was alternately in paradise or the 
other place just as it happened that Louise was gracious to 
him or seemingly indifferent—because indifference or pre¬ 
occupation could mean nothing else than that she was think¬ 
ing of some other young person. Col. Sellers had asked him 
several times, to dine with him, when he first returned to 
Hawkeye, but Washington, for no particular reason, had not 
accepted. Ho particular reason except one which he preferred 
to keep to himself—viz. that he could not bear to be away 
from Louise. It occurred to him, now, that the Colonel had 
not invited him lately—could he be offended ? He resolved 
to go that very day, and give the Colonel a pleasant surprise. 
It was a good idea; especially as Louise had absented herself 
from breakfast that morning, and torn his heart; he would 
tear hers, now, and let her see how it felt. 

The Sellers family were just starting to dinner when 
Washington burst upon them with his surprise. For an 
instant the Colonel looked nonplussed, and just a bit uncom¬ 
fortable ; and Mrs. Sellers looked actually distressed ; but the 
next moment the head of the house was himself again, and 
exclaimed: 

“ All right, my boy, all right—always glad to see you— 

108 


A DINNER PARTY. 


109 


always glad to liear your voice and take you by tlie band. 
Don’t wait for special invitations—that’s all nonsense among 
friends. Just come whenever you can, and come as often 
as you can—the oftener the better. You can’t please 
ns any better than that, Washington; the little woman will 
tell you so herself. We don’t pretend to style. Plain folks, 
you know—plain folks. Just a plain family dinner, but such 
as it is, our friends are always welcome, I reckon you know 
that yourself, Washington. Pun along, children, run along; 
Lafayette,* stand off the cat’s tail, child, can’t you see what 
you’re doing?—Come, come, come, Poderick Dhu, it isn’t 
nice for little boys to hang onto young gentlemen’s coat tails 
—but never mind him, Washington, he’s full of spirits and 
don’t mean any harm. Children will be children, you know. 
Take the chair next to Mrs. Sellers, Washington—tut, tut, 
Marie Antoinette, let your brother have the fork if he wants 
it, you are bigger than he is.” 

Washington contemplated the banquet, and wondered if he 
were in his right mind. Was this the plain family dinner? 
And was it all present ? It was soon apparent that this was 
indeed the dinner; it was all on the table: it consisted 
abundance of clear, fresh water, and a basin of raw turnips—■ 
nothing more. 

Washington stole a glance at Mrs. Sellers’s face, and 
would have given the world, the next moment, if he could 
have spared her that. The poor woman’s face was crimson, 
and the tears stood in her eyes. Washington did not know 
what to do. He wished he had never come there and spied 
out this cruel poverty and brought pain to that poor little 
lady’s heart and shame to her cheek ; but he was there, and 
there was no escape. Col. Sellers hitched back his coat 

*In those old days the average man called his children after his most revered 
literary and historical idols; consequently there was hardly a family, at least in 
the West, but had a Washington in it—and also a Lafayette, a Franklin, and 
six or eight sounding names from Byron, Scott, and the Bible, if the offspring 
held out. To visit such a family, was to find one’s self confronted by a congress 
made up of representatives of the imperial myths and the majestic dead of all 
the ages. There was something thrilling about it, to a stranger, not to say awe 
inspirbig. 




110 PLAIN POOD AND NO EMBELLISHMENTS. 

sleeves airily from his wrists as who should say Now for 
solid enjoyment! ’’ seized a fork, flourished it and began to 
harpoon turnips and deposit them in the plates before him: 

‘‘ Let me help you, Washington—Lafayette pass this plate 
to "Washington—ah, well, well, my boy, things are looking 


A HEALTHY MEAL. 

pretty bright, now, I tell you. Speculation—my! the whole 
atmosphere’s full of money. I would’nt take three fortunes 
for one little operation I’ve got on hand now—have anything 
from the casters? Xo? Well, you’re right, you’re right. 
Some people like mustard with turnips, but—now there 
was Baron Poniatowski—Lord, but that man did know 
how to live !—true Pussian you know, Bussian to the back 
bone; I say to my wife, give me a Pussian every time, for a 
table comrade. The Baron used to say, ‘ Take mustard. 
Sellers, try the mustard,—a man carCt know what turnips 
are in perfection without mustard, ’ but I always said, ‘ISTo, 
Baron, I’m a plain man, and I want my food plain—none of 
your embellishments for Beriah Sellers—no made dishes for 



























EARLY MALCOMB TURNIPS. 


Ill 


me! And it’s tlie best way—high living kills more than it 
cures in this world, you can rest assured of that.—Yes 
indeed, Washington, I’ve got one little operation on hand that 
—take some more water—help yourself, won’t you ?—help 
yourself, there’s plenty of it.—You’ll find it pretty good, I 
guess. How does that fruit strike you ? ” 

Washington said he did not know that he had ever tasted 
better. He did not add that he detested turnips even when 
they were cooked—loathed them in their natural state. Ho, 
he kept this to himself, and praised the turnips to the peril 
of his soul. 

. ‘‘ I thought you’d like them. Examine them—examine 
them—they’ll bear it. See how perfectly firm and j nicy they 
are—they can’t start any like them in this part of the coun¬ 
try, I can tell you. These are from Hew Jersey—I imported 
them myself. They cost like sin, too; but lord bless me, I 
go in for having the best of a thing, even if it does cost a lit¬ 
tle more—its the best economy, in the long run. These are 
the Early Malcolm—it’s a turnip that can’t be produced 
except in just one orchard, and the supply never is up to the 
demand. Take some more water, Washington—you can’t 
drink too much water wdth fruit—all the doctors say that. 
The plague can’t come where this article is, my boy!” 

“ Plague ? What plague ?” 

‘‘ What plague, indeed ? Why the Asiatic plague that 
nearly depopulated London a couple of centuries ago.” 

“ But how does that concern us ? There is no plague here, 
± reckon.” 

Sh ! I’ve let it out! Well, never mind—just keep it to 
yourself. Perhaps I oughtn’t said anything, but its hound to 
come out sooner or later, so what is the odds ? Old McDow¬ 
ells wouldn’t like me to—to—bother it all. I’ll just tell the 
whole thing and let it go. You see, I’ve been down to St. 
Louis, and I happened to run across old Dr. McDowells— 
thinks the world of me, does the doctor. He’s a man that 
keeps himself to himself, and well he may, for he knows that 
he’s got a reputation that covers the whole earth—he won’t 
condescend to open himself out to many people, but lord bless 


112 


HOW TO rilEVENT THE PLAGUE. 


you, lie and I are just like brothers ; he won’t let me go to a 
hotel when I’m in the city—says I’m the only man that’s 
company to him, and I don’t know but there’s some truth in 
it, too, because although I never like to glorify myself and 
make a great to-do over what I am or what I can do or what 
I know, I don’t mind saying here among friends that I am 
better read up in most sciences, maybe, than the general run 
of professional men in these days. Well, the other day he 
let me into a little secret, strictly on the quiet, about this 
matter of the plague. 

“You see it’s booming right along in our direction—follows 
the Gulf Stream, you know, just as all those ej^idemics do,— 
and within three months it will be just waltzing through this 
land like a whirlwind ! And whoever it touches can make 
his will and contract for the funeral. Well you can’t cure it, 
you know, but you can prevent it. How? Turnips ! that’s 
it! Turnips and water! Nothing like it in the world, old 
McDowells says, just fill yourself up two or three times a day, 
and you can snap your fingers at the plague. Sh !—keep mum, 
but just you coniine yourself to that diet and you’re all right. 
I wouldn’t have old McDowells know that I told about it 
for anything—he never would speak to me again. Take some 
more water, Washington—the more water you drink, the 
better. Here, let me give you some more of the turnips. 
No, no, no, now, I insist. There, now. Absorb those. They’re 
mighty sustaining—brim full of nutriment—all the medical 
books say so. Just eat from four to seven good-sized turnips 
at a meal, and drink from a pint and a half to a quart of 
water, and then just sit around a couple of hours and let them 
ferment. You’ll feel like a lighting cock next day.” 

Fifteen or twenty minutes later the Coloners tongue was 
still chattering away—he had piled up several future fortunes 
out of several incipient “ operations ” which he had blundered 
into within the past week, and was now soaring along through 
some brilliant expectations born of late promising experiments 
upon the lacking ingredient of the eye-water. And at such 
a time Washington ought to have been a rapt and enthusi¬ 
astic listener, but he was not, for two matters disturl)ed his 



EFFECTS OF THE TURNIPS. 


113 


mind and distracted his attention. One was, that he dis¬ 
covered, to his confusion and shame, that in allowing himself 
to be helped a second time to the turnips, he had robbed 
those hungry children. He had not needed the dreadful 
‘‘ fruit,” and had not wanted it; and when he saw the pathetic 
sorrow in their faces when they asked for more and there 
was no more to give them, he hated himself for his stupidity 
and pitied the famishing young things with all his heart. The 
other matter that disturbed him was the dire inflation that 
had begun in his stomach. It grew and grew, it became 
more and more insupportable. Evidently the turnips were 

fermenting.” He forced himself to sit still as long as he 
could, but his anguish conquered him at last. 

He rose in the midst of the Colonel’s talk and excused him¬ 
self on the plea of a previous engagement. The Colonel 
followed him to the door, promising over and over again that 
he would use his influence to get some of the Early Malcolms 
for him, and insisting that he should not be such a stranger 
but come and take pot-luck with him every chance he got. 
Washington was glad enough to get away and feel free again. 
He immediately bent his steps toward home. 

In bed he passed an hour that threatened to turn his hair 
gray, and then a blessed calm settled down upon him that 
fllled his heart with gratitude. Weak and languid, he made 
shift to turn himself about and seek rest and sleep; and as 
his soul hovered upon the brink of unconciousness, he heaved 
a long, deep sigh, and said to himself that in his heart he had 
cursed the Colonel’s preventive of rheumatism, before, and 
now let the plague come if it must—he was done with pre¬ 
ventives ; if ever any man beguiled him with turnips and 
water again, let him die the death. 

If he dreamed at all that night, no gossiping spirit disturbed 
his visions to whisper in his ear of certain matters just then 
in bud in the East, more than a thousand miles away that 
after the lapse of a few years would develop influences 
which would profoundly affect the fate and fortunes of the 
Hawkins family. 

8 - 


CHAPTER Xn. 


V, y. 






Todtenb. 141.17,4. 


it’s easy enough to make a fortune,” Henry said. 

\J It seems to be easier than it is, I begin to think,” 
replied Philip. 

“Well, why don’t you go into something? You’ll never 
dig it out of the Astor Library.” 

If there be any place and time in the world where and 
when it seems easy to “ go into something ” it is in Broadway 
on a spring morning, when one is walking city-ward, and has 
before him the long lines of palace-shops with an occasional 
spire seen through the soft haze that lies over the lower town, 
and hears the roar and hum of its multitudinous traffic. 

To the young American, here or elsewhere, the paths to 
fortune are innumerable and all open ; there is invitation in 
the air and success in all his wide horizon. He is embarrassed 
which to choose, and is not unlikely to waste years in dally 
ing with his chances, before giving himself to the serious tug 
and strain of a single object. He has no traditions to bind 
him or guide him, and his impulse is to break away from 
the occupation his father has followed, and make a new way 
for himself. 

Philip Sterling used to say that if he should seriously set 
himself for ten years to any one of the dozen projects that 
were in his brain, he felt that he could be a rich man. He 
wanted to be rich, he had a sincere desire for a fortune, but 
for some unaccountable reason he hesitated about addressing 
himself to the narrow work of getting it. He never walked 
Broadway, a part of its tide of abundant shifting life, 

114 



FOOT LIGHTS AND MUSIC. 115 

without feeling something of tlie flush of wealth, and uncon¬ 
sciously taking the elastic step of one well-to-do in this 
prosperous world. 

Especially at night in the crowded theatre—Philip was too 
young to remember the old ChamberB’ Street box, where the 
serious Burton led his hilarious and pagan crew—in the inter¬ 
vals of the screaming comedy, when the orchestra scraped 
and grunted and tooted its dissolute tunes, the world seemed 
full of opportunities to Philip, and his heart exulted with a 
conscious ability to take any of its prizes he chose to pluck. 

Perhaps it was the swimming ease of the acting on the 
stage, where virtue had its reward in three easy acts, perhaps 
it was the excessive light of the house, or the music, or the 
buzz of the excited talk between acts, perhaps it was youth 
which believed everything, but for some reason while Philip 


PHILIP AT THEATUK. 

was at the theatre he had the utmost confldence in life and 
his ready victory in it. 

Delightful illusion of paint and tinsel and silk attire, of 
cheap sentiment and high and mighty dialogue! Will there 





























116 


PHILIP STERLING. 


not always be rosin enough for the squeaking fiddle-bow ? 
Do we not all like the maudlin hero, who is sneaking round 
the right entrance, in wait to steal the pretty wife of his rich 
and tyrannical neighbor from the paste-board cottage at the 
left entrance ? and when he advances down to the foot-lights 
and defiantly informs the audience that, ‘‘he who lays 
his hand on a woman except in the w^ay of kindness,” do we 
not all applaud so as to drown the rest of the sentence ? 

Philip never w^as fortunate enough to hear what w^ould 
become of a man who should lay his hand on a woman with 
the exception named; but he learned afterwards that the 
woman who lays her hand on a man, without any exception 
whatsoever, is always acquitted by the jury. 

The fact was, though Philip Sterling did not know it, that 
he wanted several other things quite as much as he wanted 
wealth. The modest fellow would have liked fame thrust 
upon him for some worthy achievement; it might be for a 
book, or for the skillful management of some great newspaper, 
or for some daring expedition like that of Lt. Strain or Dr. 
Kane. He was unable to decide exactly what it should be. 
Sometimes he thought he would like to stand in a conspicuous 
pulpit and humbly preach the gospel of repentance; and it 
even crossed his mind that it would be noble to give himself 
to a missionary life to some benighted region, where the date- 
palm grows, and the nightingale’s voice is in tune, and the 
bul-bul sings on the off nights. If he were good enough he 
would attach himself to that company of young men in the 
Theological Seminary, who were seeing New York life in 
preparation for the ministry. 

Philip was a Kew England boy and had graduated at 
Yale ; he had not carried off with him all the learning of that 
venerable institution, but he knew some things that were 
not in the regular course of study. A very good use of the 
English language and considerable knowledge of its literature 
was one of them; he could sing a song very well, not in time 
to be sure, but with enthusiasm; he could make a magnetic 
speech at a moment’s notice in the class rooiiR the debating 


AN EXCELLENT LAW CLEKK. 


117 


society, or upon any fence or dry-goods box that was con¬ 
venient ; he could lift himself by one arm, and do the giant 
swing in the gymnasium; lie could strike out from his left 



WHAT PHILIP LEARNED AT COLLEGE. 


shoulder ; he could handle an oar like a professional and pull 
stroke in a winning race. Philip had a good appetite, a sun¬ 
ny temper, and a clear hearty laugh. He had brown hair, 
hazel eyes set wide apart, a broad but not high forehead, and 
a fresh winning face. He was six feet high, with broad 
shoulders, long legs and a swinging gait; one of those loose- 
jointed, capable fellows, who saunter into the world with a 
free air and usually make a stir in whatever company they 
enter. 

After he left college Philip took the advice of friends and 
lead law. Law seemed to him well enough as a science, but 
Lm never could discover a practical case wliere it appeared to 
him worth while to go to law, and all the clients who stopped 
’with this new clerk in the ante-room of the law office where 
he was writing, Philip invariably advised to settle—no matter 
how, but settle—greatly to the disgust of his employer, who 
knew that justice between man and man could only be attain¬ 
ed by the recognized processes, with the attendant fees. 
Besides Philip hated the copying of pleadings, and he was 
certain that a life of ‘‘ whereases ” and aforesaids ” and 
whipping the devil round the stump, would be intolerable. 

His pen therefore, and whereas, and not as aforesaid, 
strayed off into other scribbling. In an unfortunate hour, 
he had two or three papers accepted by hrst-class magazines, 
at three dollars the printed page, and, behold, his vocation 
was open to him. He would make his mark in literature. 
















118 


LITERARY WORK. 


Life has no moment so sweet as that in which a youn ' ini,A 
believes himself called into the immortal ranks of the mas¬ 
ters of literature. It is such a noble ambition, that it is a 
pity it has usually such a shallow foundation. 

At the time of this history, Philip had gone to E'ew York 
for a career. With his talent he thought he should have 
little difficulty in getting an editorial position upon a metro¬ 
politan newspaper; not that he knew anything about news¬ 
paper work, or had the least idea of journalism; he knew he 
was not fitted for the technicalities of the subordinate depart¬ 
ments, but he could write leaders with perfect ease, he was 
sure. The drudgery of the newspaper office was too distaste¬ 
ful, and besides it would be beneath the dignity of a graduate 
and a successful magazine writer. He wanted to begin at 
the top of the ladder. 

To his surprise he found that every situation in the edito¬ 
rial department of the journals was full, always had been 
full, was always likely to be full. It seemed to him that the 
newspaper managers didn’t want genius, but mere plodding 
and grubbing. Philip therefore read diligently in the Astor 
library, planned literary works that should compel attention, 
and nursed his genius. Tie had no friend wise enough to 
tell him to step into the Dorking Convention, then in session, 
make a sketch of the men and women on the platform, and 
take it to the editor of the Daily Grapevine^ and see what 
he could get a line for it. 

One day he had an offer from some country friends, who 
believed in him, to take charge of a provincial daily news¬ 
paper, and he went to consult Mr. Gringo—Gringo who 
years ago managed the Atlas —about taking the situation. 

‘^Take it of course,” says Gringo, take anything that 
offers, why not ? ” 

‘‘ But they want me to make it an opposition paper.” 

“Well, make it that. That party is going to succeed, it’s 
going to elect the next president.” 

“I don’t believe it,” said Philip, stoutly, “its 
wrong in principle, and it ought not to succeed, but 


A NEW DOOR OPENS. 


119 


I don’t see how I can go for a thing I don’t believe in.” 

“ O, very well,” said Gringo, turning away with a shade 
of contempt, “ you’ll find if you are going into literature and 
newspaper work that you can’t afford a conscience like that.” 

But Philip did afford it, and he wrote, thanking his friends, 
and declining because he said the political scheme would fail, 
and ought to fail. And he went hack to his hooks and to 
his waiting for an opening large enough for his dignified 
entrance into the literary wmrld. 

It was in this time of rather impatient waiting that Philip 
M^as one morning walking down Broadway with Henry 
Brierly. He frequently accompanied Henry part way down 
town to what the latter called his office in Broad Street, to 
which he went, or pretended to go, with regularity every day. 
It was evident to the most casual acquaintance that he was a 
man of affairs, and that his time was engrossed in the largest 
sort of operations, about which there was a mysterious air. 
His liability to be suddenly summoned to Washington, or 
Boston or Montreal or even to Liverpool was always immi¬ 
nent. He never was so summoned, but none of his acquaint¬ 
ances would have been surprised to hear any day that he had 
gone to Panama or Peoria, or to hear from him that he had 
bought the Bank of Commerce. 

The two were intimate at that time,—they had been class¬ 
mates—and saw a great deal of each other. Indeed, they 
lived together in Hinth Street, in a boarding-house there, 
which had the honor of lodging and partially feeding several 
other young fellows of like kidney, who have since gone their 
several ways into fame or into obscurity. 

It w^as during the morning walk to which reference has 
been made that Henry Brierly suddenly said, “ Philip, how 
would you like to go to St. Jo ? ” 

“ I think I should like it of all things,” replied Philip, with 
some hesitation, but what for.” 

Oh, its a big operation. We are going, a lot of us, rail- 
d men, engineers, contractors. You know my uncle is a 


120 


GO WEST YOUNG MAN. 


great railroad man. I’ve no doubt I can get you a cbance to 
go if you’ll go.” 

But in what capacity would I go ? ” 

‘‘Well, I’m going as an engineer. You can go as one.” 

“ I don’t know an engine from a coal cart.” 

“Field engineer, civil engineer. You can begin by carry¬ 
ing a rod, and putting down the figures. It’s easy enough. 
I’ll show you about that. We’ll get Trail twine and some of 
those books.” 

“ Yes, but what is it for, what is it all about? ” 

“Why don’t you see? We lay out a line, spot the good 
land, enter it up, know where the stations are to be, spot them, 
buy lots; there’s heaps of money in it. We wouldn’t engi¬ 
neer long.” 

“ When do you go ?” was Philip’s next question, after 
some moments of silence. 

“ To-morrow. Is that too soon ?” 

“ Yo, its not too soon. I’ve been ready to go anywhere 
for six months. The fact is, Henry, that I’m about tired of 
trying to force myself into things, and am quite willing to 
try floating with the stream for a while, and see where I will 
land. This seems like a providential call; it’s sudden enough.” 

The two young men who were by this time full of the 
adventure, went down to the Wall street office of Henry’s 
uncle and had a talk with that wily operator. The uncle 
knew Philip very well, and was pleased with his frank enthu¬ 
siasm, and willing enough to give him a trial in the western 
venture. It was settled therefore, in the prompt way in 
which things are settled in Hew York, that they would start 
wdth the rest of the company next morning for the west. 

On the way up town these adventurers bought books on 
engineering, and suits of India-rubber, which they supposed 
they would need in a new and probably damp country, and 
many other things which nobody ever needed anywhere. 

The night was spent in packing up and writing letters, for 
Philip would not take such an important step without inform¬ 
ing his friends. If they disapprove, thought he, I’ve done 
my duty by letting them know. Happy youth, that is ready 


PACKING AND LETTER WRITING. 


121 


to pack its valise, and start for Cathay on an hour’s notice. 

‘‘By the way,” calls out Philip from his bed-room, to 
Henry, “where is St. Jo.?” 

“ Why, it’s in Missouri somewhere, on the frontier I think. 
We’ll get a map.” 

“ Hever mind the map. We will find the place itself. I 
was afraid it was nearer home.” 

Philip wrote a long letter, first of all, to his mother, full of love 
and glowing anticipations of his new opening. He wouldn’t 
bother her with business details, but he hoped that the day 
was not far off when she would see him return, with a mod¬ 
erate fortune, and something to add to the comfort of her 
advancing years. 

To his uncle he said that he had made an arrangement 
with some Hew York capitalists to go to Missouri, in a land 
and railroad operation, which would at least give him a knowl¬ 
edge of the world and not unlikely offer him a business open¬ 
ing. He knew his uncle would be glad to hear that he had 
at last turned his tlioughts to a practical matter. 

It was to Puth Bolton that Philip wrote last. He might 
never see her again; he went to seek his fortune. He 
well knew the perils of the frontier, the savage state of society, 
the lurking Indians and the dangers of fever. But there was 
no real danger to a person who took care of himself. Might 
he write to her often and tell her of his life. If he returned 
with a fortune, perhaps and perhaps. If he was unsuccess¬ 
ful, or if he never returned—perhaps it would be as well. 
Ho time or distance, however, would ever lessen his interest 
in her. He would say good-night, but not good-bye. 

In the soft beginning of a Spring morning, long before 
Hew York had breakfasted, while yet the air of expectation 
hung about the wharves of the metropolis, our young adven¬ 
turers made their way to the Jersey City railway station of 
the Erie road, to begin the long, swinging, crooked journey, 
over what a writer of a former day called a causeway of 
cracked rails and cows, to the West. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


What ever to say he toke in his entente, 
his langage was so fayer & pertynante, 
yt someth vnto manys herying 
not only the worde, but veryly the thyng. 

Caxton's Book of Curtesye. 

I X the party of which our travelers found themselves mem¬ 
bers, was Duff Brown, the great railroad contractor, and 
subsequently a well-known member of congress; a bluff, 
jovial Bost’n man, thick-set, close shaven, with a heavy jaw 
and a low forehead—a very pleasant man if you were not in his 
way. He had government contracts also, custom houses and 
dry docks, from Portland to Xew Orleans, and managed to 
get out of congress, in appropriations, about weight for weight 
of gold for the stone furnished. 

Associated with him, and also of this party, was Rodney 
Schaick, a sleek Xew York broker, a man as prominent in 
the church as in the stock exchange, dainty in his dress, 
smooth of speech, the necessary complement of Duff Brown 
in any enterprise that needed assurance and adroitness. 

It would be difficult to find a pleasanter traveling party, 
one that shook off more readily the artificial restraints of 
Puritanic strictness, and took the world with good-natured 
allowance. Money was plenty for every attainable luxury, 
and there seemed to be no doubt that its supply would con¬ 
tinue, and that fortunes were about to be made without a 
great deal of toil. Even Philip soon caught the prevailing 

122 


PRECAUTIONS AGAINST BEING POISONED BY WATER. 123 


spirit; Harry did not need any inoculation, lie always talked 
in six ligures. It was as natural for the dear boy to be rich 
as it is for most people to be poor. 

The elders of the party were not long in discovering the 
fact, which almost all travelers to the west soon find out, that 
the water was poor. It must have been by a lucky premoni¬ 
tion of this that they all had brandy flasks with which to 
qualify the water of the country ; and it was no doubt from 
an uneasy feeling of the danger of being poisoned that they 
kept experimenting, mixing a little of the dangerous and 
clianging fluid, as they passed along, with the contents of the 
flasks, thus saving their lives hour by hour. Philip learned 
afterwards that temperance and the strict observance of Sun¬ 
day and a certain gravity of deportment are geographical 
habits, which people do not usually carry with them away 
from home. 

Our travelers stopped in Chicago long enough to see that 
they could make their fortunes there in two week’s time, but 
it did not seem worth while; the west was more attractive; 
the further one went the wider the opportunities opened. 
They took railroad to Alton and the steamboat from there to 
St. Louis, for the change and to have a glimpse of the river, 

“ Isn’t this jolly ?” cried Henry, dancing out of the barber’s 
room, and coming down the deck with a one, two, three step, 
sliaven, curled and perfumed after his usual exquisite fashion. 

“ What’s jolly ? ” asked Philip, looking out upon the dreary 
and monotonous waste through which the shaking steamboat 
was coughing its way. 

‘AYhy, the whole thing; it’s immense I can tell you. I 
wouldn’t give that to be guaranteed a hundred thousand cold 
cash in a year’s time.” 

‘‘ Where’s Mr. Brown ? ” 

He is in the saloon, playing poker with Schaick, and that 
long haired party with the striped trousers, who scrambled 
aboard when the stage plank was half hauled in, and the big 
Delegate to Congress from out west.” 

That’s a fine looking fellow, that delegate, with his glossy 


124 A GAME OF POKER MADE INTERESTING. 

black whiskers; looks like a Washington man; I shouldn’t 
think he’d he at poker.” 

Oh, its only fivo cent ante, just to make it interesting, 
the Delegate said.” 

“ But I shouldn’t think a representative in Congress would 
play poker any way in a public steamboat.” 

‘‘Nonsense, you’ve got to pass the time. I tried a hand 
myself, but those old fellows are too many for me. The 



THE delegate’s INTERESTING GAME. 


Delegate knows all the points. I’d bet a hundred dollars he 
will ante his way right into the United States Senate when 
his territory comes in. He’s got the cheek for it.” 

“ He has the grave and thoughtful manner of expectoration 
of a public man, for one thing,” added Philip. 

“ Harry,” said Philip, after a pause, “ what have you got 
on those big boots for; do you expect to wade ashore ? ” 

“ I’m breaking ’em in.” 

The fact was Harry had got himself up in what he thought 
a proper costume for a new country, and was in appearance 
















THE PARTY IN ST. LOUIS. 


125 


a sort of compromise between a dandy of Broadway and a 
backwoodsman. Harry, with blue eyes, fresh complexion, 
silken whiskers and curly chestnut hair, was as handsome as 
a fashion plate. He wore this morning a soft hat, a short cut¬ 
away coat, an open vest displaying immaculate linen, a leath¬ 
ern belt round his waist, and top-boots of soft leather, well 
polished, that came above his knees and required a string 
attached to his belt to keep them up. The light hearted 
fellow gloried in these shining encasements of his well shaped 
legs, and told Philip that they were a perfect protection 
against prairie rattle-snakes, which never strike above the 
knee. 

The landscape still wore an almost wintry appearance 
when our travelers left Chicago. It was a genial spring day 
when they landed at St. Louis; the birds were singing, the 
blossoms of peach trees in city garden plots, made the air 
sweet, and in the roar and tumult on the long river levee 
they found an excitement that accorded with their own 
hopeful anticipations. 

The party went to the Southern Hotel, where the great 
Duff Brown was very well known, and indeed was a man of 
so much importance that even the office clerk was respectful 
to him. He might have respected in him also a certain vul¬ 
gar swagger and insolence of money, wffiich the clerk greatly 
admired. 

The young fellows liked the house and liked the city; it 
seemed to them a mighty free and hospitable town. Coming 
from the East they were struck with many peculiarities. 
Everybody smoked in the streets, for one thing, they noticed; 
everybody “ took a drink ’’ in an open manner whenever he 
wished to do so or was asked, as if the habit needed no coiu 
cealment or apology. In the evening when they walked 
about they found people sitting on the door-steps of their 
dwellings, in a manner not usual in a northern city; in front 
of some of the hotels and saloons the side walks were filled 
with chairs and benches—^Paris fashion, said Harry—upon 
which people lounged in these warm spririg evenings, smoking, 


126 


HARRY AS AN ENGINEER 


always smoking; and the clink of glasses and of billiard 
balls was in the air. It was delightful. 

Harry at once found on landing that his back-w^oods cus¬ 
tom would not be needed in St. Louis, and that, in fact, he 
had need of all the resources of his wardrobe to keep even 
with the young swells of the town. But this did not much 
matter, for Harry was always superior to his ’ clothes. As 
they w^ere likely to be detained some time in the city, Harry 
told Philip that he was going to improve his time. And he 
did. It was an encouragement to any industrious man to see 
this young fellow rise, carefully dress himself, eat his break¬ 
fast deliberately, smoke his cigar tranquilly, and then repair 
to his room, to w’hat he called his work, wuth a grave and 
occupied manner, but with perfect cheerfulness. 

Harry would take off his coat, remove his cravat, roll up 
his shirt-sleeves, give his curly hair the right touch before 
the glass, get out his book on engineering, his boxes of instru¬ 
ments, his drawung-papef, his profile paper, open the book of 
logarithms, mix his India ink, sharpen his pencils, light a 
cigar, and sit down at the table to lay out a line,” wfith the 
most grave notion that he was mastering the details of engi¬ 
neering. lie w'ould spend half a day in these preparations 
without ever working out a problem or having the faintest 
conception of the use of lines or logarithms. And when he 
had finished, he had the most cheerful confidence that he had 
done a good day’s work. 

It made no difference, however, whether Harry was in his 
room in a hotel or in a tent, Philq) soon found, he was just 
the same. In camp he wmuld get himself up in the most 
elaborate toilet at his command, polish his long boots to the 
top, lay out his work before him, and spend an hour or longer, 
if anybody was looking at him, humming airs, knitting his 
brows, and “ working ” at engineering; and ifa crowd of gaping 
rustics were looking on all the wdiile it was perfectly satisfac¬ 
tory to him. 

‘‘ You see,” he says to Philip one morning at the hotel 
when he was thus engaged, “ I want to get the theory of this 


MYSTERY AND ROMANCE. 


127 


tiling, so that I can have a check on the engineers.” 

‘‘ I thought you were going to be an engineer yourself,” 
queried Philip. 

“i7ot many times, if the court knows herself. There's 
better game. Brown and Schaick have, or will have, the 
control for the whole line of the Salt Lick Pacihc Extension, 
forty thousand dollars a mile over the prairie, with extra for 
hard-pan—and it’ll be pretty much all hard-pan I can tell you; 
besides every alternate section of land on this line. There’s 
millions in the job. I’m to have the sub-contract for the 
first fifty miles, and you can bet it’s a soft thing.” 

‘‘I’ll tell you what you do,Philip,” continued Harry, in a 
burst of generosity, “ if I don’t get you into my contract, 
you’ll be with the engineers, and you just stick a stake at the 
first ground marked for a depot, buy the land of the farmer 
before he knows where the depot will be, and we’ll turn a 
hundred or so on that. I’ll advance the money for the pay¬ 
ments, and you can sell the lots. Schaick is going to let me 
have ten thousand just for a flyer in such operations.” 

“ But that’s a good deal of money.'” 

“ Wait till you are used to handling money. I didn’t come 
out here for a bagatelle. My uncle wanted me to stay East 
and go in on the Mobile custom house, work up the Wash- 
ino^ton end of it; he said there was a fortune in it for a smart 
young fellow, but I preferred to take the chances out here. 
Did I tell you I had an offer from Bobbett and Eanshaw to 
go into their office as confidential clerk on a salary of ten 
tliousand ?” 

“ Why didn’t you take it ?” asked Philip, to whom a sal¬ 
ary'^f two thousand would have seemed wealth, before he 
started on this journey. 

“ Take it ? I’d rather operate on my own hook,” said Harry, 
in his most airy manner. 

A few evenings after their arrival at the Southern, Philip 
and Harry made the acquaintance of very agreeable gentle¬ 
man, whom they had frequently seen before about the hotel cor¬ 
ridors, and passed a casual word with. He had the air of a 


128 


A VALUABLE ACQUAINTANCE MADE. 


man of business, and was evidently a person of importance. 

The precipitating of this casual intercourse into the more 
substantial form of an acquaintanceship was the work of the 
gentleman himself, and occurred in this wise. Meeting the 
two friends in the lobby one evening, he asked them to give 
him the time, and added : 

“ Excuse me, gentlemen—strangers in St. Louis ? Ah, yes— 
yes. From the East, perhaps? Ah, just so, just so. Eastern 
born myself—Yirginia. Sellers is my name—Beriah Sellers. 



THE PERSON OF IMPORTANCE. 


Ah—^by the way —'New York, did you say ? That remiinds me; 
just met some gentlemen from your State a week or two ago 
—very prominent gentlemen—in public life they are; you 
must know them, without doubt. Let me see—let me see. 
Curious those names have escaped me. I know they were 
from your State, because I remember afterward my old friend 
Governor Shackleby said to me—fine man, is the Governor 
—one of the finest men our country has produced—said he, 
‘Colonel, how did you like those New York gentlemen?— 















COL. SELLEKS AT THE “PLANTER’S.’ 


129 


not many sucli men in the world, Colonel Sellers,’ said the 
Governor—yes, it was ]^ew York he said—I remember it 
distinctly. I canH recall those names, somehow. But no 
matter. Stopping here, gentlemen—stopping at the South¬ 
ern 

In shaping their reply in their minds, the title “ Mr. ” had 
a place in it; but when their turn had arrived to speak, the 
title “ Colonel ” came from their lips instead. 

They said yes, they were abiding at the Southern, and 
thought it a very good house. 

“Yes, yes, the Southern is fair. I myself go to the Plant¬ 
er’s, old, aristocratic house. We Southern gentlemen don’t 
change our ways, you know. I always make it my home 
there when I run down from Hawkeye—my plantation is in 
H.awkeye, a little up in the country. You should know the 
Planter’s.” 

Philip and Harry both said they should like to see a hotel 
that had been so famous in its day—a cheerful hostelrie, 
Philip said it must have been where duels were fought there 
across the dining-room table. 

“ You may believe it, sir, an uncommonly pleasant lodging. 
Shall we walk 

And the three strolled along the streets, the Colonel talking 
all the way in the most liberal and friendly manner, and with 
a frank open-heartedness that inspired confidence. 

“ Yes, born East myself, raised all along, know the West— 
a great country, gentlemen. The place for a young fellow of 
spirit to pick up a fortune, simply pick it up, it’s lying round 
loose here. Not a day that I don’t put aside an opportunity, 
too busy to look into it. Management of my own property 
takes my time. First visit? Looking for an opening?” 

“ Yes, looking around,” replied Harry. 

“Ah, here we are. You’d rather sit here in front than go 
to my apartments ? So had I. An opening, eh ?” 

The Colonel’s eyes twinkled. “ Ah, just so. The whole 
country is opening up, all we want is capital to develope it. 
Slap down the rails and bring the land into market. The 
9 - 


130 


“WILL YOU TAI^E SOMETHING. 


richest land on God Almighty’s footstool is lying right out 
there. If I had my capital free I could plant it for mil¬ 
lions.” 

“ I suppose your capital is largely in your plantation ? ” 
asked Philip. 

Well, partly, sir, partly. I’m down here now wdth refer¬ 
ence to a little operation—a little side thing merely. By the 
way gentlemen, excuse the liberty, but it’s about my usual 
time ”— 

The Colonel paused, but as no movement of his acquaint¬ 
ances followed this plain remark, he added, in an explana¬ 
tory manner, 

“ I’m rather particular about the exact time—have to be in 
this climate.” 

Even this open declaration of his hospitable intention not 
being understood the Colonel politely said, 

“ Gentlemen, will you take something ? ” 

Col. Sellers led the way to a saloon on Fourth street under 
the hotel, and the young gentlemen fell into the custom of 
the country. 

‘‘ Not that,” said the Colonel to the bar-keeper, who shoved 
along the counter a bottle of apparently corn-whiskey, as if 
he had done it before on the same order; “ not that,” with a 
wave of the hand. ‘‘ That Otard if you please. Yes. Never 
take an inferior liquor, gentlemen, not in the evening, in 
this climate. There. That’s the stuff. My respects ! ” 

The hospitable gentleman, having disposed of his liquor, 
remarking that it was not quite the thing—‘‘ when a man has 
his own cellar to go to, he is apt to get a little fastidious 
about his liquors ”—called for cigars. But the brand offered 
did not suit him ; he motioned the box away, and asked for 
some ])articular Havana’s, those in separate wrappers. 

“ I always smoke this sort, gentlemen; they are a little 
more expensive, but you’ll learn, in this climate, that you’d 
better not economize on poor cigars.” 

Having imparted this valuable piece of information, the 
Colonel lighted the fragrant cigar with satisfaction, and then 


WHO PAID THE BILL. 


131 


carelessly put his fingers into liis right vest pocket. That 
movement being without result, with a shade of disappoint¬ 
ment on his face, he felt in his left vest pocket. 'Not finding 
anything there, he looked up with a serious and annoyed air, 



“not that.” 


anxiously slapped his right pantaloon’s pocket, and then his 
h'ft, and exclaimed, 

“ By George, that’s annoying. By George, that’s mortify¬ 
ing. ^^ever had anything of that kind happen to me before. 
I’ve left my pocket-book. Hold! Here’s a bill, after all. 
Ho, thunder, it’s a receipt.” 

“ Allow me,” said Philip, seeing how seriously the Colonel 
"v^ as annoyed, and taking out his purse. 

The Colonel protested he couldn’t think of it, and muttered 
something to the bar-keeper about “ hanging it up,” but the 
vender of exhilaration made no sign, and Philip had the 
privilege of paying the costly shot; Col. Sellers profusely 
apologizing and claiming the right “ next time, next time.” 

As soon as Beriah Sellers had bade his friends good night 
and seen them depart, he did not retire to apartments 
in the Planter’s, but took his way to his lodgings with a 
friend in a distant part of the city. 

























CHAPTER XIV. 


Pulchra duos inter sita stat Philadelphia rivoe; 

Inter quos duo sunt millia longa vise. 

Delawar his major, Sculkil minor ille vocatur; 

Indis et Suevis notus uterque diu. 

Hie plateas mensor spatiis delineat aequis, 

Et domui recto est ordine juncta domus. 

T. Makin, 

Vergin era fra lor di gia matura 
Verginitd, d’alti pensieri e regi, 

D’alta belta; ma sua belta non cura, 

O tanta sol, quant’ onesta sen fregi. Tasso. 

T he letter that Philip Sterling wrote to Puth Bolton, on 
the evening of setting out to seek his fortune in the 
west, found tliat young lady in her own father’s house in 
Philadelphia. It was one of the pleasantest of the many charm¬ 
ing suburban houses in that hospitable city,which is territorially 
one of the largest cities in the world, and only prevented 
from becoming the convenient metropolis of the country by 
the intrusive strip of Camden and Amboy sand which shuts 
it off from the Atlantic ocean. It is a city of steady thrift, 
the arms of which might well be the deliberate but delicious 
terrapin that imparts such a royal flavor to its feasts. 

It was a spring morning, and perhaps it was the influence 
of it that made Puth a little restless, satisfled neither with 
the out-doors nor the in-doors. Her sisters had gone to the 
city to show some country visitors Independence Hall, Girard 
College and Pairmount Water AYorks and Park, four objects 
which Americans cannot die peacefully, even in Naples, with¬ 
out having seen. But Puth confessed that she was tired of 
them, and also of the Mint. She was tired of other things. 
She tried this morning an air or two upon the piano, sang a 
simple song in a sweet, but slightly metallic voice, and theu 

132 


A QUAKER MOTHER. 


133 


seating herself by the open window, read Philip’s letter. 

Was she thinking about Philip, as she gazed across the 
fresh lawn over the tree tops to the Chelton Hills, or of that 
w^orld which his entrance into her tradition-bound life 
had been one of the means of opening to her ? Whatever 
she thought, she was not idly musing, as one might see by 
the expression of her face. After a time she took up a book ; 
it was a medical work, and to all appearance about as inter¬ 
esting to a girl of eighteen as the statutes at large; but her 
face was soon aglow over its pages, and she was so absorbed 
in it that she did not notice the entrance of her mother at 
the open door. 

‘‘Kuth?” 

“Well, mother,” said the young student, looking up, with 
a shade of impatience. 

“ I wanted to talk with thee a little about thy plans.” 

“ Mother, thee knows I couldn’t stand it at Westfield; the 
school stifled me, it’s a place to turn young people into dried 
fruit.” 

“ I know,” said Margaret Bolton, with a half anxious smile, 
“ tliee chafes against all the ways of Friends, but what will 
thee do ? Why is thee so discontented ? ” 

“ If I must say it, mother, I 'want to go away, and get out 
of this dead level.” 

With a look half of pain and half of pity, her mother 
answered, “ I am sure thee is little interfered with; thee 
dresses as thee will, and goes where thee pleases, to any 
church thee likes, and thee has music. I had a visit yester¬ 
day from the society’s committee by way of discipline, 
because we have a piano in the house, which is against the 
rules.” 

“ I hope thee told the elders that father and I are respon¬ 
sible for the piano, and that, much as thee loves music, thee 
is never in the room when it is played. Fortunately father 
is already out of meeting, so they can’t discipline him. I 
heard father tell cousin Abner that he was whipped so often 


134 : 


A CAKEER CHOSEN, 


for whistling when he was a hoy that he was determined to 
have what compensation he could get now.” 

« Thy ways greatly try me, Enth, and all thy relations. I 
desire thy happiness first of all, bnt thee is starting out on a 



KUTH'S MOTHER MAKES ENQUIRIES. 


dangerous path. Is thy father willing thee should go away* 
to a school of the world’s people ? ” 

‘‘ I have not asked him,” Euth replied with a look that 
might imply that she was one of those determined little 
bodies who first made up her own mind and then compelled 
others to make up theirs in accordance with hers. 

‘^And when thee has got the education thee wants, 
and lost all relish for the society of thy friends and the ways 
of thy ancestors, what then ? ” 

Euth turned square round to her mother, and with an im¬ 
passive face and not the slightest change of tone, said, 

“ Mother, I’m going to study medicine ? ” 

Margaret Bolton almost lost for a moment her habitual 
placidity. 

‘‘ Thee, study medicine! A slight frail girl like thee, study 
medicine *. Does thee think thp<^ could stand it six months ? 




































COUNTRY COUSINS. 


135 


And the lectures, and the dissecting rooms, has thee thought 
of the dissecting rooms ? ” 

“ Mother,” said Kuth calmly, “ I have thought it all over. 
I know I can go through the whole, clinics, dissecting room 
and all. Does thee think I lack nerve ? What is there to 
fear in a person dead more than in a person living ? ” 

But thy health and strength, child; thee can never stand 
the severe application. And, besides, suppose thee does 
learn medicine ? ” 

“ I will practice it.” 

‘aiere?” 

Here.” 

‘‘ Where thee and thy family are known ? ” 

“ If 1 can get patients.” 

“ I hope at least, Buth, thee will let us know when thee 
opens an office,” said her mother, with an apj^roach to sarcasm 
that she rarely indulged in, as she rose and left the room. 

Buth sat quite still for a time, with face intent and flushed. 
It was out now. She had begun her open battle. 

The sight-seers returned in high spirits from the city. 
Was there any building in Greece to compare with Girard 
College, was there ever such a magniflcent pile of stone devised 
for the shelter of poor orphans ? Think of the stone shingles 
of the roof eight inches thick ! Buth asked the enthusiasts if 
they would like to live in such a sounding mausoleum, with 
its great halls and echoing rooms, and no comfortable place 
in it for the accommodation of anybody? If they were or¬ 
phans, wmuld they like to be brought up in a Grecian temple ? 

And then there was Broad street! Wasn’t it the broadest 
and the longest street in the world ? There certainly w^as no 
end to it, and even Buth was Philadelphian enough to believe 
that a street ought not to have any end, or architectural point 
upon wliicli the weary eye could rest. 

But neither St. Girard, nor Broad street, neither wonders 
of the Mint nor the glories of the Hall where the ghosts of our 
fathers sit always signing the Declaration, impressed the 
visitors so much as the splendors of the Chestnut street 
windows, and the bargains on Eighth street. The truth is that 


136 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


tlie country cousins had come to town to attend the Yearly 
Meeting, and the amount of shopping that preceded that 
religious event was scarcely exceeded by the preparations for 
the opera in more worldly circles. 

Is thee going to the Yearly Meeting, Kuth asked one 
of the girls. 

“ I have nothing to wear,” replied that demure person. If 
thee wants to see new bonnets, orthodox to a shade and 
conformed to the letter of the true form, thee must go to the 
Arch Street Meeting. Any departure from either color or 
shape would be instantly taken note of. It has occupied 
mother a long time, to find at the shops the exact shade 
for her new bonnet. Oh, thee must go by all means. But 
thee won’t see there a sweeter, woman than mother.” 

And thee won’t go ?” 

“Why should I ? I’ve been again and again. If I go to 
Meeting at all I like best to sit in the quiet old house in 
Germantown, where the windows are all open and I can see 
the trees, and hear the stir of the leaves. It’s such a crush at 
the Yearly Meeting at Arch Street, and then there’s the row 
of sleek-looking young men who ime the curbstone and stare 
at us as we come out. No, I don’t feel at home there.” 

That evening Buth and her father sat late by the drawing¬ 
room fire, as they were quite apt to do at night. It was 
always a time of confidences. 

“ Thee has another letter from young Sterling,” said Eli 
Bolton. 

“ Yes. Philip has gone to the far west.” 

“ How far ?” 

“ He doesn’t say, but it’s on the frontier, and on the map 
everything beyond it is marked ‘ Indians ’ and ^ desert,’ and 
looks as desolate as a Wednesday Meeting.” 

“ Humph. It was time for him to do something. Is he 
going to start a daily newspaper among the Kick-a-poos ?’ ’ 

“ Father, thee’s unjust to Philip. He’s going into business.” 

“ What sort of business can a young man go into without 
capital ?” 

“He doesn’t say exactly what it is,” said Euth a little 


A CAGED EAGLE GROWS UNEASY 


137 


dubiously, “ but it’s something about land and railroads, and 
thee knows, father, that fortunes are made nobody knows 
exactly how, in a new country.” 

‘‘I should think so, you innocent puss, and in an old one 
too. But Philip is honest, and he has talent enough, if he 
will stop scribbling, to make his way. But thee may as w^ell 
take care of theeself, Ruth, and not go dawdling along with 
a young man in his adventures, until thy own mind is a little 
more settled what thee wants.” 

This excellent advice did not seem to impress Ruth greatly, 
for she was looking away with that abstraction of vision 
which often came into her grey eyes, and at length she 
exclaimed, with a sort of impatience, 

‘‘ I wish I could go west, or south, or somewhere. What 
a box women are put into, measured for it, and put in young; 
if we go anywhere it’s in a box, veiled and pinioned and shut 
in by disabilities. Father, I should like to break things and 
get loose.” 

What a sweet-voiced little innocent, it was to be sure. 

Thee will no doubt break things enough when thy time 
comes, child; women always have; but wdiat does thee want 
now that thee hasn’t ? ” 

1 want to be something, to make myself something, to do 
something. Why should I rust, and be stupid, and sit in in¬ 
action because I am a girl ? What would happen to me if 
thee should lose thy property and die ? What one useful 
thing could I do for a living, for the support of mother and 
the children ? And if I had a fortune, would thee want me 
to lead a useless life ? ” 

“ Has thy mother led a useless life ? ” 

“ Somewhat that depends upon whether her children 
amount to anything,” retorted the sharp little disputant. 

What’s the good, father, of a series of human beings who 
don’t advance any ? ” 

Friend Eli, who had long ago laid aside the Quaker dress, 
and was out of Meeting, and who in fact after a youth of 
doubt could not yet define his belief, nevertheless looked 
with some wonder at this fierce young eagle of his, 


138 


FOOT LIGHTS AND MUSIC. 


hatched in a Friend’s dove-cote. But he only said, 

“ Has thee consulted thy mother about a career, I suppose 
it is a career thee wants ? ” 

Buth did not reply directly; she complained that her 
mother didn’t understand her. But that wise and placid 
woman understood the sweet rebel a great deal better than 
Buth understood herself. She also had a history, possibly, 
and had sometime beaten her young wings against the cage 
of custom, and indulged in dreams of a new social order, and 
had passed through that fiery period when it seems possible 
for one mind, which has not yet tried its limits, to break up 
and re-arrange the world. 

Buth replied to Philip’s letter in due time and in the most 
— cordial and unsentimental 

' manner. Philip liked the 
letter, as he did everything 
she did ; but he had a dim 
notion that there was more 
about herself in the letter 
than about him. He took 
it with him from the South¬ 
ern Hotel, when he went to 
walk, and read it over and 
again in an unfrequented 
street as he stumbled along. 
The rather common-place 
and unformed hand-writ¬ 
ing seemed to him peculiar 
and characteristic, different 
from that of any other wo¬ 
man. 

Buth was glad to hear 
that Philip had made a push into the world, and she was 
sure that his talent and courage would make a way for him. 
She should pray for his success at any rate, and especially that 
the Indians, in St. Louis, would not take his scalp. 

Philip looked rather dubious at this sentence, and wished 
that he had written nothing about Indians. 



THE LETTER. 





































CHAPTEK XY. 


—Rationalem quidem puto medicinam essedebere: instrui vero ab evidentibus 
causis, obscuris omnibus non a cogitatione artificis, sed ab ipsa arte rejectis. 
Incidere autem vivorum corpora, et crudele, et supervacuum est: mortuorum 
corpora discentibus necessarium. Celms. 

E li BOLTOX and his wife talked over Puth’s case, as 
they had often done before, with no little anxiety. 
Alone of all their children she was impatient of the restraints 
and monotony of the Friends’ Society, and wholly indisposed 
to accept the “ inner light ” as a guide into a life of accept¬ 
ance and inaction. When Margaret told her husband of 
Ruth’s newest project, he did not exhibit so much surprise as 
she looked for. In fact he said that he did not see why a 
woman should not enter the medical profession if she felt a 
call to it. 

“ But,” said Margaret, “ consider her total inexperience of 
the world, and her frail health. Can such a slight little body 
endure the ordeal of the preparation for, or the strain of, the 
practice of the profession ?” 

“ Did thee ever think, Margaret, whether she can endure 
being thwarted in an object on which she has so set her heart, 
as she has on this ? Thee has trained her thyself at home, in 
her enfeebled childhood, and thee knows how strong her will 
is, and what she has been able to accomplish in self-culture by 
the simple force of her determination. She never will be 
satisfied until she has tried her own strength.” 

“I wish,” said Margaret, with an inconsequence that is not 
exclusively feminine, “ that she were in the way to fall in 
love and marry by and bv. I think that would cure her of 

139 


140 


RAIL ROAD CONTRACTORS. 


some of her notions. I am not sure hut if she went away to 
some distant school, into an entirely new life, her thoughts 
would be diverted.” 

Eli Bolton almost laughed as he regarded his wife, "with 
eyes that never looked at her except fondly, and replied. 

Perhaps thee remembers that thee had notions also, before 
we Tvere married, and before thee became a member of 
Meeting. I think Puth comes honestly by certain tendencies 
which thee has hidden under the Friend’s dress.” 

Margaret could not say no to this, and while she paused, it 
was evident that memory was busy with suggestions to shake 
her present opinions. 

‘‘Mhy not let Puth try the study for a time,” suggested 
Eli; there is a fair beginning of a Woman’s Medical College 
in the city. Quite likely she will soon find that she needs 
first a more general culture, and fall in with thy wish that 
she should see more of the worLd at some large school.” 

There really seemed to be nothing else to be done, and 
Margaret consented at length without approving. And it was 
agreed that Puth, in order to spare her fatigue, should take 
lodgings with friends near the college and make a trial in the 
pursuit of that science to which we all owe our lives, and 
sometimes as by a miracle of escape. 

That day Mr. Bolton brought home a stranger to dinner, 
Mr. Bigler of the great firm of Penny backer, Bigler & Small, 
railroad contractors. He was always bringing home some¬ 
body, who had a scheme; to build a road, or open a mine, or 
plant a swamp with cane to grow paper-stock, or found a 
hospital, or invest in a patent shad-bone separator, or start a 
college someAvhere on the frontier, contiguous to a land 
speculation. 

The Bolton house was a sort of hotel for this kind of people. 
They were always coming. Puth had known them from 
childhood, and she used to say that her father attracted them 
as naturally as a sugar hogshead does flies. Puth had an idea 
that a large portion of the world lived by getting the rest of 
the world into schemes. Mr. Bolton never could say no ” 


THE FIRST CHANCE IN THE DEAL. 


141 


to any of them, not even, said Ruth again, to the society for 
stamping oyster shells with scripture texts before they were 
sold at retail. 

Mr. Bigler’s plan this time, about which he talked 
loudly, with his mouth full, all dinner time, was the builds 
ing of the Tunkhannock, Rattlesnake and Youngwomaiis- 
town railroad, which would not only be a great highway to 
the west, but would open to market inexhaustible coal-fields 
and untold millions of lumber. The plan of operations 
was very simple. 

‘‘ We’ll buy the lands,” explained he, on long time, backed 
by the notes of good men; and then mortgage them for 
money enough to get the road well on. Then get the towns 
on the line to issue their bonds for stock, and sell their bonds 
for enough to complete the road, and partly stock it, especially 
if we mortgage each section as we complete it. We can then 
sell the rest of the stock on the prospect of the business of 
the road through an improved country, and also sell the lands 
at a big advance, on the strength of the road. All we want,” 
continued Mr. Bigler in his frank manner, “is a few thousand 
dollars to start the surveyo, and arrange things in the le^is^^' 
ture. Tliere is some parties will have to be seen, who 
make us trouble.” 

“ It will take a good deal of money to start the enterp 
remarked Mr. Bolton, who knew very well what “ seeing ^ 
Pennsylvania Legislature meant, but was too polite to tell 
Bigler what he thought of him, while he was his guest; “ whce 
security would one have for it ?” 

Mr. Bigler smiled a hard kind of smile, and said, “You’d 
be inside, Mr. Bolton, and you’d have the first chance in 
the deal.” 

This was rather unintelligible to Ruth, who was nevertheless 
somewhat amused by the study of a type of character she had 
seen before. At length she interrupted the conversation by 
asking, 

“You’d sell the stock, I suppose, Mr. Bigler, to anybody 
who was attracted by the prospectus ?” 



142 


SEEING THE LEGISLATURE. 


‘‘ O, certainly, serve all alike,” said Mr. Bigler, now notic¬ 
ing Buth for the first time, and a little puzzled by the serene, 
intelligent face that was turned towards him. 

“Well, what would become of the poor people who had 
been led to put their little money into the speculation, when 
you got out of it and left it half way ? ” 

It would be no more true to say of Mr. Bigler that he was 
or could be embarrassed, than to say that a brass counterfeit 
dollar-piece would change color when refused; the question 
annoyed him a little, in Mr. Bolton’s presence. 

“ Why, yes. Miss, of course, in a great enterprise for the 
benefit of the community there will little things occur, which, 
which—and, of course, the poor ought to be looked to; 1 tell 



♦ CARING FOR THE POOR. 


my wife, that the poor must he looked to; if you can tell 
who are poor—there’s so many impostors. ' And then, there’s 































HIGH PKICE OF SENATORS. 


143 


SO many poor in the legislature to be looked after,” said the 
contractor with a sort of a chuckle, isn’t that so, Mr. 
Bolton ? ” 

Eli Bolton replied that he never had much to do with the 
legislature. 

“ Yes,” continued this public benefactor, “ an uncommon 
poor lot this year, uncommon. Consequently an expensive 
lot. The fact is, Mr. Bolton, that the price is raised so high 
on United States Senator now, that it a-ffects the whole mar¬ 
ket ; you can’t get any public improvement through on 
reasonable terms. Simony is what 1 call it. Simony,” repeated 
Mr. Bigler, as if he had said a good thing. 

Mr. Bigler went on and gave some very interesting details 
of the intimate connection between railroads and politics, and 
thoroughly entertained himself all dinner time, and as much 
disgusted Kuth, who asked no more questions, and her father 
who replied in monosyllables. 

“ I wish,” said Butli to her father, after the guest had 
gone, ‘‘ that you wouldn’t bring home any more such horrid 
men. Do all men who wear big diamond breast-pins, flourish 
their knives at table, and use bad grammar, and cheat ? ” 

“ O, child, thee mustn’t be too observing. Mr. Bigler is 
one of the most important men in the state; nobody has 
more influence at Harrisburg. I don’t like him any more 
than thee does, but I’d better lend him a little money than 
to have his ill will.” 

“ Father, I think thee’d better have his ill-will than his 
company. Is it true that he gave money to help build the 
pretty little church of St. James the Less, and that he is one 
of the vestrymen ? ” 

Yes. He is not such a bad fellow. One of the men in 
Third street asked him the other day, whether his was a high 
church or a low church ? Bigler said he didn’t know ; he’d 
been in it once, and he could touch the ceiling in the side 
aisle with his hand.” 

think he’s just horrid,” was Kuth’s final summary of 
him, after the manner of the swift judgment of women, with 


144 


RUTH AS A STUDENT. 


no consideration of the extenuating circumstances. Mr. 
Bigler had no idea that he had not made a good impression 
on the whole family ; he certainly intended to be agreeable. 
Margaret agreed with her daughter, and though she never 
said anything to such people, she was grateful to Ruth for 
sticking at least one pin into him. 

Such was the serenity of the Bolton household that a stran¬ 
ger in it would never have suspected there was any opposition 
to Ruth’s going to the Medical School. And she went 
quietly to take her residence in town, and began her attend¬ 
ance of the lectures, as if it were the most natural thing in 
the world. She did not heed, if she heard, the busy and 
wondering gossip of relations and acquaintances, gossip that 
has no less currency among the Friends than elsewhere 
because it is whispered slyly and creeps about in an under¬ 
tone. 

Ruth was absorbed, and for the first time in her life 
thoroughly happy ; happy in the freedom of her life, and in 
the keen enjoyment of the investigation that broadened its 
field day by day. She was in high spirits when she came 
home to spend First Days; the house was full of her gaiety 
and her merry laugh, and the children wished that Ruth 
would never go away again. But her mother noticed, with 
a little anxiety, the sometimes fiushed face, and the sign of 
an eager spirit in the kindling eyes, and, as well, the serious 
air of determination and endurance in her face at unguarded 
moments. 

The college was a small one and it sustained itself not 
without difficulty in this city, which is so conservative, and is 
yet the origin of so many radical movements. There were 
not more than a dozen attendants on the lectures all together, 
so that the enterprise had the air of an experiment, and the 
fascination of pioneering for those engaged in it. There was 
one woman physician driving about town in her carriage, 
attacking the most violent diseases in all quarters with per¬ 
sistent courage, like a modern Bellona in her war chariot^ 
who was popularly supposed to gather in fees to the amount 


A FEMALE SAW BONES. 


145 


of ten to twenty thousand dollars a year. Perhaps some of 
these students looked forward to the near day when they 
would support such a practice and a husband besides, but it is 
unknown that any of them ever went further than practice in 
hospitals and in their own nurseries, and it is feared that some 
of them were Quite as ready as their sisters, in emergencies, 
to “ call a man.” 

If Puth had any exaggerated expectations of a professional 
life, she kept them to herself, and was known to her fellows 
of the class simply as a cheerful, sincere student, eager in her 
investigations, and never impatient at anything, except an 
insinuation that women had not as much mental capacity for 
science as men. 

They really say,” said one young Quaker sprig to another 



ANATOMICAL INVESTIGATIONS. 


youth of his age, “ that Puth Bolton is really going to be a 
saw-bones, attends lectures, cuts up bodies, and all that. She’s 
cool enough for a surgeon, anyway.” He spoke feelingly, 
for he had very likely been weighed in Puth’s calm eyes 
10 - 



















146 


STUDYING ANATOMY. 


sometime, and tboroiighlj scared by tbe little langb that 
accompanied a puzzling reply to one of bis conversational 
nothings. Sucb young gentlemen, at tins time, did not come 
very distinctly into Kutb’s horizon, except as amusing circum¬ 
stances. 

About tbe details of her student life, Euth said very little 
to her friends, but they bad reason to know, afterwards, that 
it required all her nerve and tbe almost complete exhaustion 
of her physical strength, to carry her through. She began 
her anatomical practice upon detached portions of the human 
frame, which were brought into the demonstrating room—■ 
dissecting the eye, the ear, and a small tangle of muscles 
and nerves—an occupation which had not much more savor 
of death in it than the analysis of a portion of a plant out of 
which the life went when it was plucked up by the roots. 
Custom inures the most sensitive persons to that which is at 
first most repellant; and in the late war we saw the most 
delicate women, who could not at home endure the sight of 
blood, become so used to scenes of carnage, that they walked 
the hospitals and the margins of battle-fields, amid the poor 
remnants of torn humanity, with as perfect self-possession 
as if they were strolling in a flower garden. 

It happened that Euth was one evening deep in a line of 
investigation which she could not finish or understand with¬ 
out demonstration, and so eager was she in it, that it seemed 
as if she could not wait till the next day. She, therefore, 
persuaded a fellow student, who was reading that evening 
with her, to go down to the dissecting room of the college, 
and ascertain what they wanted to know by an hour’s work 
there. Perhaps, also, Euth wanted to test her own nerve, 
and, to see whether the power of association was stronger in 
her mind than her own will. 

The janitor of the shabby and comfortless old building 
admitted the girls, not wdthout suspicion, and gave them 
lighted candles, which they would need, without other remark 
than there’s a new one. Miss,” as the girls went up the 
broad stairs. 

They climbed to the third story, and paused before a door, 


A DISSECTING ROOM BY CANDLE LIGHT. 


147 


which they unlocked, and which admitted them into a long 
apartment, with a row of windows on one side and one at the 
end. The room was without light, save from the stars and 
the candles the girls carried, which revealed to them dimly 
two long and several small tables, a few benches and chairs, 
a couple of skeletons hanging on the w^all, a sink, and cloth- 
covered heaps of something upon the tables here and there. 

The windows were open, and the cool night wind came in 
strong enough to flutter a white covering now and then, and 
to shake the loose casements. But all the sweet odors of the 
night could not take from the room a faint suggestion of 
mortality. 

The young ladies paused a moment. The room itself was 
familiar enough, but night makes almost any chamber eerie, 
and especially such a room of detention as this where the 
mortal parts of the unburied might almost be supposed to be 
visited, on the sighing night winds, by the wandering spirits 
of their late tenants. 

Opposite and at some distance across the roofs of lower 
buildings, the girls saw a tall ediflce, the long upper story 
of which seemed to be a dancing hall. The windows of that 
were also open, and through them they heard the scream of 
the jiggered and tortured violin, and the pump, pump of the 
oboe, and saw the moving shapes of men and women in quick 
transition, and heard the prompter’s drawl. 

“I wonder,” said Buth, ‘‘what the girls dancing there 
would think if they saw us, or knew that there w^as such a 
room as this so near them.” 

She did not speak very loud, and, perhaps unconsciously, 
the girls drew near to each other as they approached the long 
table in the centre of the room. A straight object lay upon 
it, covered with a sheet. This was doubtless “ the new one” 
of which the janitor spoke. Kuth advanced, and with a not 
very steady hand lifted the white covering from the upper 
part of the flgure and turned it down. Both the girls started, 
[t was a negro. The black face seemed to defy the pallor of 
death, and asserted an ugly life-likeness that was frightful. 


148 


«‘WHO IS THE DEAD MAN?” 


Eiitli was as pale as the white sheet, and her comrade whis¬ 
pered, “ Come awa}^, Ruth, it is awful.” 

Perhaps it was the wavering light of the candles, perhaps 
it was only the agony from a death of pain, hut the repulsive 
black face seemed to wear a scowl that said, ‘‘ Haven’t you 
yet done with the outcast, persecuted black man, but you must 
now haul him from his grave, and send even your women to 
dismember his body 

Who is this dead man, one of thousands who died yester¬ 
day, and will be dust anon, to protest that science shall not 
turn his worthless carcass to some account ? 

Ruth could have had no such thought, for with a pity in 
her sweet face, that for tlie moment overcame fear and dis¬ 
gust, she reverently replaced the covering, and went away to 
her own table, as her companion did to hers. And there for 
an hour they wmrked at their several problems, without 
speaking, but not without an awe of the presence there, “ the 
new one,” and not without an awful sense of life itself, as 
they heard the pulsations of the music and the light laughter 
from the dancing-hall. 

When, at length, they went away, and locked the dreadful 
room behind them, and came out into the street, where people 
were passing, they, for the first time, realized, in the relief 
they felt, what a nervous strain they had been under. 


CHAPTER XYI. 


T-V* I 


Todtenh, 117. 1.3. 



ILE Ruth was thus absorbed in her new occu- 


f f pation, and the spring was wearing away, Philip 
-and his friends were still detained at the Southern 
Hotel. The great contractors had concluded their business 
with the state and railroad officials and with the lesser con¬ 
tractors, and departed for the East. But the serious illness 
of one of the engineers kept Philip and Plenry in the city 
and occupied in alternate watchings. 

Philip wrote to Ruth of the new acquaintance they had 
made. Col. Sellers, an enthusiastic and hospitable gentleman, 
very much interested in the development of the country, and 
in their success. They had not had an opportunity to visit 
at his place “ up in the country ” yet, but the Colonel often 
dined with them, and in confidence, confided to them his pro¬ 
jects, and seemed to take a great liking to them, especially 
to his friend Harry. It was true that he never seemed to 
have ready money, but he was engaged in very large opera¬ 
tions. 

The correspondence was not very brisk between these two 
young persons, so differently occupied; for though Philip 
wrote long letters, he got brief ones in reply, full of sharp 
little observations however, such as one concerning Col. Sel¬ 
lers, namely, that such men dined at their house every week. 

Ruth’s proposed occupation astonished Philip immensely, 


149 


150 


LIFE AT ST. LOUIS. 


but while lie argued it and discussed it, lie did not dare liint to 
her his fear that it would interfere with his most cherished 
plans. He too sincerely respected Huth’s judgment to make 
any protest, however, and he would have defended her 
course against the world. 

This enforced waiting at St. Louis was very irksome to 
Philip. His money was running away, for one thing, and he 
longed to get into the held, and see for himself what chance 
there was for a fortune or even an occupation. The con¬ 
tractors had given the young men leave to join the engineer 
corps as soon as they could, but otherwise had made no pro¬ 
vision for them, and in fact had left them with only the most 
indehnite expectations of something large in the future. 

Harry was entirely happy, in his circumstances. He very 
soon knew everybody, from the governor of the state down 
to the waiters at the hotel. He had the Wall street slang at 
his tongue’s end; he always talked like a capitalist, and 
entered with enthusiasm into all the land and railway schemes 
with which the air was thick. 

Col. Sellers and Harry talked together by the hour and by 
the day. Harry informed his new friend that he was going 
out with the engineer corps of the Salt Lick Pacific Exten¬ 
sion, but that wasn’t his real business. 

“Pm to have, with another party,” said Harry, “a big 
contract in the road, as soon as it is let; and, meantime, I’m 
with the engineers to spy out the best land and the depot 
sites.” 

“It’s everything,” suggested the Colonel, “in knowing 
where to invest. I’ve known people throw away their money 
because they were too consequential to take Sellers’ advice. 
Others,again, have made their pile on taking it. I’ve looked 
over the ground, I’ve been studying it for twenty years. 
You can’t put your finger on a spot in the map of Missouri 
that I don’t know as if I’d made it. When you want to place 
anything,” continued the Colonel, confidently, “just let 
Beriah Sellers know. That’s all.” 

“ Oh, I haven’t got much in ready money I can lay my 


A WELL-MATCHED PAIR. 


151 


hands on now, but if a fellow could do anything with fifteen 
or twenty thousand dollars, as a beginning, I shall draw for 
that when I see the right opening.” 

“Well, that’s something, that’s something, fifteen or twenty 
thousand dollars, say twenty—as an advance,” said the Col¬ 
onel refiectively, as if turning over his mind for a project 
that could be entered on with such a trifling sum. 

“ I’ll tell you what it is—but only to you Mr. Brierly, only 



“only for you, brierly.” 


to you, mind ; I’ve got a little project that I’ve been keeping. 
It looks small, looks small on paper, but it’s got a big future. 
What should you say, sir, to a city, built up like the rod of 
Aladdin had touched it, built up in two years, where now you 
wouldn’t expect it any more than you’d expect a light-house 
on the top of Pilot Knob ? and you could own the land! 
It can be done, sir. It can be done ! ” 

The Colonel hitched up his chair close to Harry, laid his 
hand on his knee, and, first looking about him, said in a low 
voice, “ The Salt Lick Pacific Extension is going to run 
through Stone’s Landing! The Almighty never laid out a 
cleaner piece of level prairie for a city ; and it’s the natural 
center of all that region of hemp and tobacco.” 

“What makes you think the road will go there? It’s 






152 


EVERYBODY’S FAVORITE. 


twenty miles, on the map, off the straight line of the road ? ” 

“You can’t tell what is the straight line till the engineers 
have been over it. Between us, I have talked with Jeff 
Thompson, the division engineer. He understands the wants 
of Stone’s Landing, and the claims of the inhabitants—wdio 
are to be there. Jeff says that a railroad is for the accommo¬ 
dation of the people and not for the benefit of gophers; and 
if he don’t run this to Stone’s Landing he’ll be damned! 
You ought to know Jeff; he’s one of the most enthusiastic 
engineers in this 'western country, and one of the best fellows 
that ever looked through the bottom of a glass.” 

The recommendation was not undeserved. There was 
nothing that Jeff wouldn’t do, to accommodate a friend, from 
sharing his last dollar with him, to winging him in a duel. 
When he understood from Col. Sellers how the land lay at 
Stone’s Landing, he cordially shook hands with that gentle¬ 
man, asked him to drink, and fairly roared out, “ Why, God 
bless my soul. Colonel, a word from one Yirginia gentleman 
to another is ^ nuff ced.’ There’s Stone’s Landing been wait¬ 
ing for a railroad more than four thousand years, and damme 
if she shan’t have it.” 

Philip had not so much faith as Harry in Stone’s Landing, 
when the latter opened the project to him, but Harry talked 
about it as if he already owned that incipient city. 

Harry thoroughly believed in all his projects and inven¬ 
tions, and lived day by day in their golden atmosphere. 
Everybody liked the young fello'w, for how could they help 
liking one of such engaging manners and large fortune ? The 
waiters at the hotel would do more for him than for any other 
guest, and he made a great many acquaintances among the 
people of St. Louis, who liked his sensible and liberal views 
about the development of the w^estern country, and about St. 
Louis. He said it ought to be the national capital. Harry 
made partial arrangements with several of the merchants for 
furnishing supplies for his contract on the Salt Lick Pacific 
Extension ; consulted the maps with the engineers, and went 
over the profiles with the contractors, figuring out estimates 


A TIGHT PLACE. 


153 


for bids. He was exceedingly busy with those things when 
he was not at the bedside of his sick acquaintance, or arrang¬ 
ing the details of his speculation with Col. Sellers. 

Meantime the days went along and the weeks, and the 
money in Harry’s pocket got lower and lower. He was just 
as liberal with what he had as before, indeed it was his nature 
to be free with his money or with that of others, and he 
could lend or spend a dollar with an air that made it seem 
like ten. At length, at the end of one week, when his hotel 
bill was presented, Harry found not a cent in his pocket to 
meet it. He carelessly remarked to the landlord that he was 
not that day in funds, but he would draw on Hew York, and 
he sat down and wrote to the contractors in that city a glow¬ 
ing letter about the prospects of the road, and asked them to 
advance a hundred or two, until he got at work. Ho reply 
came. He wrote again, in an unoffended business like tone, 
suggesting that he had better draw at three days. A short 
answer came to this, simply saying that money was very tight 
in Wall street just then, and that he had better join the 
engineer corps as soon as he could. 

But the bill had to be paid, and Harry took it to Philip, 
and asked him if he thought he hadn’t better draw on his 
uncle. Philip had not much faith in Harry’s power of 

drawing,” and told him that he would pay the bill himself. 
Whereupon Harry dismissed the matter then and thereafter 
from his thoughts, and, like a light-hearted good fellow as he 
was, gave himself no more trouble about his board-bills. 
Philip paid them, swollen as they were with a monstrous list 
of extras; but he seriously counted the diminishing bulk of 
his own hoard, which was all tlie money he had in the world. 
Had he not tacitly agreed to share with Harry to the last in 
this adventure, and would not the generous fellow divide 
with him if he, Philip, were in want and Harry had anything? 

The fever at length got tired of tormenting the stout young 
engineer, who lay sick at the hotel, and left him, very thin, a 
little sallow but an “ acclimated ” man. Everybody said he 
was ‘‘ acclimated ” now, and said it cheerfully. What it is to 
be acclimated to western fevers no two persons exactly agree. 


154 


TWENTY-FIVE MISSOUEI EAKTHQUAKES. 


Some say it is a sort of vaccination that renders death by some 
malignant type of fever less probable. Some regard it as a sort 

of initiation, like that into 
the Odd Fellows, which 
renders one liable to his 
regular dues thereafter. 
Others consider it merely 
the acquisition of a habit 
of taking every morning 
before breakfast a dose of 
bitters, composed of whiskey 
and assafoetida, out of the 
s acclimation jug. 

Jeff Thompson afterwards 
told Philip that he once 
asked Senator Atchison, 
then acting Yice-President 
of the United States, about 
the possibility of acclima¬ 
tion; he thought the opin¬ 
ion of the second officer of our great government would be 
valuable on this point. They were sitting together on a 
bench before a country tavern, in the free converse permitted 
by our democratic habits. 

I suppose. Senator, that you have become acclimated to 
this country ? ” 

‘AVell,” said the Yice-President, crossing his legs, pulling 
his wide-awake down over his forehead, causing a passing 
chicken to hop quickly one side by the accuracy of his aim, 
and speaking with senatorial deliberation, I think I have. 
I’ve been here twenty-five years, and dash, dash my dash 
to dash, if I haven’t entertained twenty-five separate and dis¬ 
tinct earthquakes, one a year. The niggro is the only person 
who can stand the fever and ague of this region.” 

The convalescence of the engineer was the signal for break¬ 
ing up quarters at St. Louis, and the young fortune-hunters 
started up the river in good spirits. It was only the second 
time either of them had been upon a Mississippi steamboat, 



AN ACCLIMATED MAN. 













ONCE MORE AFLOAT. 


155 


and nearly everything they saw had the charm of novelty. 
Col. Sellers was at the landing to hid them good-bye. 

“ I shall send you up that basket of champagne by the 
next boat; no, no; no thanks; you’ll find it not had in 
camp,” he cried out as the plank was hauled in. “ My 
respects to Thomj)son. Tell him to sight for Stone’s. Let 



me know, Mr. Brierly, when you are ready to locate; I’ll 
come over from Ilawkeye. Good-bye.” 

And the last the young fellows saw of the Colonel, he was 
waving his hat, and beaming prosperity and good Inck. 

The voyage was delightful, and was not long enough to 
become monotonous. The travelers scarcely had time indeed 
to get accustomed to the splendors of the great saloon where 
the tables were spread for meals, a marvel of paint and gilding, 
its ceiling hung with fancifully cut tissue-paper of many 
colors, festooned and arranged in endless patterns. The 
whole was more beautiful than a barber’s shop. The printed 
bill of fare at dinner was longer and more varied, the 





























156 


OVER THE PRAIRIES. 


proprietors justly boasted, than that of any hotel in hfew York. 
It must have been the work of an author of talent and imagi¬ 
nation, and it surely was not his fault if the dinner itself was 
to a certain extent a delusion, and if the guests got something 
that tasted pretty much the same whatever dish they ordered ; 
nor ’was it his fault if a general flavor of rose in all the dessert 
dishes suggested that they had passed through the barber’s 
saloon on their way from the kitchen. 

The travelers landed at a little settlement on the left bank, 
and at once took horses for the camp in the interior, carrying 
their clothes and blankets strapped behind the saddles. Harry 
was dressed as we have seen him once before, and his long 
nnd shining boots attracted not a little the attention of the 
few persons they met on the road, and especially of the bright 
faced wenches who lightly stepped along the highway, pic¬ 
turesque in their colored kerchiefs, carrying light baskets, or 
riding upon mules and balancing before them a heavier load. 

Harry sang fragments of operas and talked about their for¬ 
tune. Philip even was excited by the sense of freedom and 
adventure, and the beauty of the landscape. The prairie, 
with its new grass and unending acres of brilliant flowers— 
chiefly the innumerable varieties of phlox—bore the look of 
years of cultivation, and the occasional open groves of white 
oaks gave it a park-like appearance. It was hardly unreason¬ 
able to expect to see at any moment, the gables and square win¬ 
dows of an Elizabethan mansion in one of the well kept groves. 

Towards sunset of the third day, when the young gentle¬ 
men thought they ought to be near the town of Magnolia, 
near which they had been directed to find the engineers’ 
camp, they descried a log house and drew up before it to 
enquire the way. Half the building was store, and half was 
dwelling house. At the door of the latter stood a negress 
with a bright turban on her head, to whom Philip called, 

“ Can you tell me, auntie, how far it is to the town of 
Magnolia ? ” 

‘‘Why, bress you chile,” laughed the woman, “you’s dere 
now.” 

It was true. This log house was the compactly built town, 




CAMP LIFE. 

















































































































































































































































































































JEFF THOMPSON’S CAMP. 15T 

and all creation was its suburbs. The engineers’ camp wa& 
only two or three miles distant. 

You’s bouii’ to find it,” directed auntie, “if you don’t 
keali nutfin ’bout de road, and go fo’ de sun-down.” 

A brisk gallop brought the riders in sight of the twinkling 
light of the camp, just as the stars came out. It lay in a 
little hollow, where a small stream ran through a sparse 
grove of young white oaks. A half dozen tents were pitched 
under the trees, horses and oxen were corraled at a little 
distance, and a group of men sat on camp stools or lay on 
blankets about a bright fire. The twang of a banjo became 
audible as they drew nearer, and they saw a couple of negroes, 
from some neighboring plantation, “ breaking down ” a juba 
in approved style, amid the “ hi, Id’s ” of the spectators. 

Mr. Jefi Thompson, for it was the camp of this re^loubt- 
able engineer, gave the travelers a hearty welcome, < 



STRAIGHT FROM THE SHOULDER. 


them ground room in his own tent, ordered supper, and set 
out a small jug, a drop from which he declared necessary on 
account of the chill of the evening. 
















158 


A PATlilOTIC ENGINEER. 


I never saw an Eastern rnan,’^ said Jeff, “ wdio knew how 
to drink from a jug with one hand. It’s as easy as lying. 
So.” He grasped the handle with the right hand, threw the 
jug back upon his arm, and applied his lips to the nozzle. It 
was an act as graceful as it was simple. “ Besides,” said Mr. 
Thompson, setting it down, “ it j)nts every man on his honor 
as to quantity.” 

Early to turn in was the rule of the camp, and by nine 
o’clock everybody was under his blanket, except Jeff himself, 
who worked awhile at his table over his field-book, and then 
arose, stepped outside the tent door and sang, in a strong and 
not unmelodious tenor, the Star Spangled Banner from be¬ 
ginning to end. It proved 
to be his nightly practice 
to let ofi* the unexpended 
steam of his conversational 
powers, in the words of this 
stirring song. 

It was a long time before 
Philip got to sleep. He 
saw the fire light, he saw 
the clear stars through the 
tree-tops, he heard the gur¬ 
gle of the stream, the 
stamp of the horses, the 
occasional barking of the 
dog which follo^ved the 
cook’s wagon, the hooting 
of an owl; and when these 
failed he saw Jeff, standing 
on a battlement, mid the 
rocket’s red glare, and heard him sing, “ Oh, say, can you 
see ? ” It was the first time he had ever slept on the ground. 



JEFF THOMPSON AS A NIGHTINGALE. 












CHAPTER XYII. 


—“ We have view’d it, 


And measur’d it within all, by the scale: 

The richest tract of land, love, in the kingdom! 
There will be made seventeen or eighteeen millions. 
Or more, as’t may be handled ! The Dei 


The Devil is an Am, 



OBODY dressed more like an engineer than Mr. Henry 


-L 1 Brierly. The completeness of his appointments was the 
envy of the corps, and the gay fellow himself was the admi¬ 
ration of the camp servants, axemen, teamsters and cooks. 

“ I reckon you didn’t git them boots no wher’s this side o’ 
Sent Louis ? ” queried the tall Missouri youth who acted as 
comrnissariy’s assistant. 

“ Ho, Hew York.” 

“ Yas, I’ve heern o’ Hew York,” continued the butternut 
lad, attentively studying each item of Harry’s dress, and en¬ 
deavoring to cover his design with interesting conversation. 
“ ’H there’s Massachusetts.” 

“ It’s not far off.” 

“I’ve heern Massachusetts was a-of a place. Les’ 

see, wliat state’s Massachusetts in ? ” 

“ Massachusetts,” kindly replied Harry, “ is in the state of 
Boston.” 

“ Abolish’n Tvan’t it ? They must a cost right smart,” re¬ 
ferring to the boots. 

Harry shouldered his rod and went to the field, tramped 
over the prairie by day, and figured up results at night, with 


159 



160 


BOUND FOR STONE’S LANDING. 


the utmost cheerfulness and industry, and plotted the line on the 
profile paper, without, however, the least idea of engineering 
practical or theoretical. Perhaps there was not a great deal 
of scientific knowledge in the entire corps, nor was very much 
needed. They were making what is called a preliminary 
survey, and the chief object of a preliminary survey was to 
get up an excitement about the road, to interest every town 
in that part of the state in it, under the belief that the road 
would run through it, and to get the aid of every planter 
upon the prospect that a station would be on his land. 

Mr. Jeff Thompson was the most popular engineer who 
could be found for this work. He did not bother himself 
much about details or practicabilities of location, but ran 
merrily along, sighting from the top of one divide to the top 
of another, and strikingplumb ” every town site and big 
plantation within twenty or thirty miles of his route. In his 
own language he “just went booming.” 

This course gave Harry an opportunity, as he said, to learn 
the practical details of engineering, and it gave Philip a chance 
to see the country, and to judge for himself what prospect of 
a fortune it offered. Both he and Harry got the “ refusal ” 
of more than one plantation as they went along, and wrote 
urgent letters to their eastern correspondents, upon the 
beauty of the land and the certainty that it would quadruple 
in value as soon as the road was finally located. It seemed 
strange to them that capitalists did not flock out there and 
secure this land. 

They had not been in the field over two weeks when Harry 
wrote to his friend Col. Sellers that he’d better be on the 
move, for the line was certain to go to Stone’s Landing, Any 
one who looked at the line on the map, as it was laid down 
from day to day, would have been uncertain which way it 
was going; but Jeft* had declared that in his judgment the 
only practicable route from the point they then stood on was 
to follow the divide to Stone’s Landing, and it was generally 
understood that that town would be the next one hit. 


AN INVISIBLE CITY. 


161 


We’ll make it, boys,” said the chief, “if we have to go 
in a balloon.” 

And make it they did. In less than a week, this indomit¬ 
able engineer had carried his moving caravan over slues and 



BOUND FOR stone’s LANDING. 


branches, across bottoms and along divides, and pitched his 
tents in the very heart of the city of Stone’s Landing. 

“Well, I’ll be dashed,” was heard the cheery voice of Mr. 
Thompson, as he stepped outside the tent door at sunrise 
next morning. “ If this don’t get me. I say, you, Grayson, 
get out your sighting iron and see if you can find old Sellers’ 
town. Blame me if we wouldn’t have run plumb by it if 
twilight had held on a little longer. Oh! Sterling, Brierly, get 
up and see the city. There’s a steamboat just coming round 
the bend.” And Jeff roared with laughter. “ The mayor’ll 
be round here to breakfast.” 

The fellows turned out of the tents, rubbing their eyes, 
and stared about them. They vrere camped on the second 
bench of the narrow bottom of a crooked, sluggish stream, 
that was some five rods wide in the present good stage of 
water. Before them were a dozen log cabins, with stick and 
11 - 









162 


INCIPIENT GREATNESS. 


mud chimneys, irregularly disposed on either side of a not 
very well defined road, which did not seem to know its own 
mind exactly, and, after straggling through the town, wan¬ 
dered ofi* over the rolling prairie in an uncertain way, as if it 
had started for nowhere and w^as quite likely to reach its 
destination. Just as it left the town, however, it was cheered 
and assisted by a guide-board, upon which was the legend 
“ 10 Mils to Hawkeye.” 

The road had never been made except by the travel over 
it, and at this season—the rainy June—it was a way of ruts 
cut in the black soil, and of fathomless mud-holes. In the 
principal street of the city, it had received more attention; 
for hogs, great and small, rooted about in it and wallowed in 
it, turning the street into a liquid quagmire which could only 
be crossed on pieces of plank thrown here and there. 

About the chief cabin, which was the store and grocery of 
this mart of trade, the mud was more liquid than elsewhere, 
and the rude platform in front of it and the dry-goods boxes 
mounted thereon were places of refuge for all the loafers of 
the place. Down by the stream was a dilapidated building 
which served for a hemp warehouse, and a shaky wharf ex¬ 
tended out from it into the water. In fact a fiat-boat was 
there moored by it, it’s setting poles lying across the gun¬ 
wales. Above the town the stream was crossed by a crazy 
wooden bridge, the supports of which leaned all ways in the 
soggy soil; the absence of a piank here and there in the floor¬ 
ing made the crossing of the bridge faster than a walk an 
offense not necessary to be prohibited by law. 

“This, gentlemen,” said Jeff, “is Columbus River, alias 
Goose Run. If it was widened, and deepened, and straight¬ 
ened, and made long enough, it would be one of the finest 
rivers in the western country.” 

As the sun rose and sent his level beams along the stream, 
the thin stratum of mist, or malaria, rose also and dispersed, 
but the light was not able to enliven the dull water nor give 
any hint of its apparently fathomless depth. Venerable 


I5T0N|C’6 LANDING. 






































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































MORNING CALLERS. 


163 


miid-turtles crawled up and roosted upon the old logs in the 
stream, their backs glistening in the sun, the first inhabitants 
of the metropolis to begin the active business of the day. 

It was not long, however, before smoke began to issue 



WAITING FOR A RAILROAD. 


from the city chimnies; and before the engineers had finish¬ 
ed their breakfast they were the object of the curious inspec¬ 
tion of six or eight boys and men, who lounged into the 
camp and gazed about them with languid interest, their hands 
in their pockets every one. 

Good morning, gentlemen,” called out the chief engineer, 
from the table. 

“ Good mawning,” drawled out the spokesman of the party. 

I allow thish-yers the railroad, I heern it was a-comin’.” 

‘‘Yes, this is the railroad, all but the rails and the iron- 
horse.” 

“ I reckon you kin git all the rails you want outen my 
white oak timber over tliar,” replied the first speaker, who 
appeared to be a man of property and willing to strike up a 
trade. 

“You’ll have to negotiate with the contractors about the 
rails, sir,” said Jeff; “ here’s Mr. Brierly, I’ve no doubt 
would like to buy your rails when the time comes.” 

“ O,” said the man, “ I thought maybe you’d fetch the 





















164 


AN OLD FRIEND IN CAMP. 


whole bilin along with you. But if you want rails, I’ve got 
em, haint I Eph.” 

“ Heaps,” said Eph. without taking his eyes off the group 
at the table. 

‘‘Well,” said Mr. Thompson, rising from his seat and mov¬ 
ing towards his tent, “the railroad has come to Stone’s Land¬ 
ing, sure; I move we take a drink on it all round.” 

The proposal met with universal favor. Jeff gave pros¬ 
perity to Stone’s Landing and navigation to Goose Bun, and 
the toast was washed down with gusto, in the simple fluid of 
corn, and with the return compliment that a rail road was a 
good thing, and that Jeff Thompson was no slouch. 

About ten o’clock a horse and wagon was descried making 
a slow approach to the camp over the prairie. As it drew 
near, the wagon was seen to contain a portly gentleman, who 
hitched impatiently forward on his seat, shook the reins and 
gently touched up his horse, in the vain attempt to communi¬ 
cate his own energy to that dull beast, and looked eagerly at 
the tents. When the conveyance at length drew up to Mr. 
Thompson’s door, the gentleman descended with great delib¬ 
eration, straightened himself up, rubbed his hands, and beam¬ 
ing satisfaction from every part of his radiant frame, advanced 
to the group that was gathered to welcome him, and which 
had saluted him by name as soon as he came within hearing. 

“Welcome to Kapoleon, gentlemen, welcome. I am proud 
to see you here Mr. Thompson. You are looking well Mr. 
Sterling. This is the country, sir. Bight glad to see you 
Mr. Brierly. You got that basket of champagne? Ho? 
Those blasted river thieves ! I’ll never send anything more 
by ’em. The best brand, Boederer. Tlie last I had in my 
cellar, from a lot sent me by Sir George Gore—took him out 
on a buffalo hunt, when he visited our country. Is always 
sending me some trifle. You haven’t looked about any yet, 
gentlemen ? It’s in the rough yet, in the rough. Those 
buildings will all have to come down. That’s the place for 
the public square, Court House, hotels, churches, jail—all 



port myself. But I put up a basket of provisions, wife would 
put in a few delicacies, women always will, and a half dozen 


NAPOLEON AS IT IS TO BE. 165 

that sort of thing. About where we stand, the deepo. How 
does that strike your engineering eye, Mr. Thompson ? Down 
yonder the business streets, running to the wharves. The 
University up there, on rising ground, sightly place, see the 
river for miles. That’s Columbus river, only forty-nine miles 
to the Missouri. You see what it is, placid, steady, no cur¬ 
rent to interfere with navigation, wants widening in places 
and dredging, dredge out the harbor and raise a levee in front 
of the town ; made by nature on purpose for a mart. Look 
at all this country, not another building within ten miles, no 
other navigable stream, lay of the land points right here; 
hemp, tobacco, corn, must come here. The railroad will do 
it, Hapoleon won’t know itself in a year.” 

“ Don’t now evidently,” said Philip aside to Harry. “ Have 
you breakfasted Colonel ? ” 

Hastily. Cup of coffee. Can’t trust any coffee I don’t im- 


“ IT ain’t there.” 









166 


A CITY ON MAPS. 


of that Burgundy, I was telling you of Mr. Brierly. By the 
way, you never got to dine with me.” And the Colonel strode 
away to the wagon and looked under the seat for the basket. 

Apparently it was not there. For the Colonel raised up 
the flap, looked in front and behind, and then exclaimed. 
Confound it. That comes of not doing a thing yourself. 
1 trusted to the women folks lo set that basket in the wagon, 
and it ain’t there.” 

The camp cook speedily prepared a savory breakfast for 
the Colonel, broiled chicken, eggs, corn-bread, and coffee, to 
which he did ample justice, and topped off with a drop of 
Old Bourbon, from Mr. Thompson’s private store, a brand 
which he said he knew well, he should think it came from his 
own side-board. 

While the engineer corps went to the fleld, to run back a 
couple of miles and ascertain, approximately, if a road could 
ever get down to the Landing, and to sight ahead across the 
Bun, and see if it could ever get out again. Col. Sellers and 
Harry sat down and began to roughly map out the city of 
Hapoleon on a large piece of drawing paper. 

“ I’ve got the refusal of a mile square here,” said the Col¬ 
onel, “ in our names, for a year, with a quarter interest 
reserved for the four owners.” 

They laid out the town liberally, not lacking room, leaving 
space for the railroad to come in, and for the river as it was 
to be when improved. 

The engineers reported that the railroad could come in, by 
taking a little SYreep and crossing the stream on a high bridge, 
but the grades would be steep. Col. Sellers said he didn’t 
care so much about the grades, if the road could only be made 
to reach the elevators on the river. The next day Mr. 
Thompson made a hasty survey of the stream for a mile or 
two, so that the Colonel and Harry were enabled to show on 
their map how nobly that would accommodate the city. Jeff 
took a little writing from the Colonel and Harry for a pro¬ 
spective share but Philip declined to join in, saying that he 


NATIVE EXPECTATIONS. 167 

had no money, and didn’t want to make engagements he 
couldn’t fulfill. 

The next morning the camp moved on, followed till it was 
out of sight by the listless eyes of the group in front of the 
store, one of whom remarked that, “he’d be doggoned if he 
ever expected to see that railroad any mo’.” 

Harry went with the Colonel to Hawkeye to complete 
their arrangements, a part of which was the preparation of 
a petition to congress for the improvement of the navigation 
of Columbus liiver. 





CHAPTER XYIII. 


• OI+/II •:©3DXJ+ai 
••:++IO:OII3 —$0: 

Bedda ag Idda, 


—“ Eve us lo convintz qals er, 

Que voill que m prendats a moiler. 

—Qu’en aissi I’a Dieus establida 

Per que not pot esser partida.” Roman de Jaufre. 

E ight years have passed since the death of Mr. Hawkins. 

Eight years are not many in the life of a nation or the 
history of a state, but they may be years of destiny that shall 
fix the current of the century following. Such years were 
those that followed the little scrimmage on Lexington Com¬ 
mon. Such years were those that followed the double-shotted 
demand for the surrender of Fort Sumter. History is never 
done with inquiring of these years, and summoning wit¬ 
nesses about them, and trying to understand their signifi¬ 
cance. 

The eight years in America from 1860 to 1868 uprooted 
institutions that were centuries old, changed the politics of a 
people, transformed the social life of half the country, and 
wrought so profoundly upon the entire national character 
that the influence cannot be measured short of two or three 
generations. 

As we are accustomed to interpret the economy of provi¬ 
dence, the life of the individual is as nothing to that of the 
nation or the race ; but who can say, in the broader view and 
the more intelligent weight of values, that the life of one 

168 


THE GIFT OF BEAUTY. 


169 


man is not more than that of a nationality, and that there is 
not a tribunal where the tragedy of one human soul shall not 
seem more significant than the overturning of any human 
institution whatever ? 

When one thinks of the tremendous forces of the upper 
and the nether world which play for the mastery of the soul 
of a woman during the few years in which she passes from 
plastic girlhood to the ripe maturity of womanhood, he may 
well stand in awe before the momentous drama. 

What capacities she has of purity, tenderness, goodness; 
what capacities of vileness, bitterness and evil. ^N^ature must 
needs be lavish with the mother and creator of men, and 
centre in her all the possibilities of life. And a few critical 
years can decide wdiether her life is to be full of sweetness 
and light, whether she is to be the vestal of a holy temple, 
or whether she will be the fallen priestess of a desecrated 
shrine. There are women, it is true, wdio seem to be capable 
neither of rising much nor of falling much, and whom a 
conventional life saves from any special development of 
character. 

But Laura wsls not one of them. She had the fatal gift of 
beauty, and that more fatal gift which does not always ac¬ 
company mere beauty, the power of fascination, a power that 
may, indeed, exist wdthout beauty. She had will, and pride 
and courage and ambition, and she w^as left to be very much 
her own guide at the age when romance comes to the aid of 
passion, and when the awakening powers of her vigorous 
mind had little object on which to discipline themselves. 

The tremendous conflict that was fought in this girl’s soul 
none of those about her knew, and very few knew that her 
life had in it anything unusual or romantic or strange. 

Those were troublous days in Ilawkeye as well as in most 
other Missouri towns, days of confusion, wdien between 
Unionist and Confederate occupations, sudden maraudings 
and bush-whackings and raids, individuals escaped observa¬ 
tion or comment in actions that would have filled the town 
with scandal in quiet times. 

Fortunately we only need to deal with Laura’s life at this 


170 WASHINGTON AS AN INVENTOR AND SOLDIER. 


period historically, and look back upon such portions of it as 
will serve to reveal the woman as she was at the time of the 
arrival of Mr. Harry Brierly in Hawkeye. 

The Hawkins family were settled there, and had a hard 
enough straggle with poverty and the necessity of keeping 
up appearances in accord with their own family pride and the 
large expectations they secretly cherished of a fortune in the 
Knobs of East Tennessee. How pinched they were perhaps 
no one knew but Clay, to whom they looked for almost their 
whole support. Washington had been in Hawkeye off and 
on, attracted away occasionally by some tremendous specula¬ 
tion, from which he invariably returned to Gen. Boswell’s 
office as poor as he went. He was the inventor of no one 
knew how many useless contrivances, which were not worth 
patenting, and his years had been passed in dreaming and 
planning to no purpose; until he was now a man of about 
thirty, without a profession or a permanent occupation, a tall, 
brown-haired, dreamy person of the best intentions and the 
frailest resolution. Probably however the eight years had 
been happier to him than to any others in his circle, for the 
time had been mostly spent in a blissful dream of the coming 
of enormous wealth. 

He went out with a company from Hawkeye to the war, 
and was not wanting in courage, but he would have been a 
better soldier if he had been less engaged in contrivances for 
circumventing the enemy by strategy unknown to the books. 

It happened to him to be captured in one of his self- 
appointed expeditions, but the federal colonel released him, 
after a short examination, satisfied that he could most injure 
the confederate forces opposed to the Unionists by returning 
him to his regiment. 

Col. Sellers w^as of course a prominent man during the 
war. He was captain of the home guards in Hawkeye, and 
he never left home except upon one occasion, when on the 
strength of a rumor, he executed a fiank movement and forti¬ 
fied Stone’s Landing, a place which no one unacquainted with 
the country would be likely to find. 

‘‘ Gad,” said the Colonel afterwards, “ the Landing is the 


COL. SELLERS AS A SOLDIER. 


171 


key to upper Missouri, and it is the only place the enemy 
never captured. If other places had been defended as well as 
that was, the result would have been different, sir.” 

The Colonel had his own theories about w^ar as he had in 



CAPTURE OP WASHINGTON. 


other things. If everybody had stayed at home as he did, he 
said, the South never would have been conquered. For what 
would there have been to conquer ? Mr. Jeff Davis w’as con¬ 
stantly writing him to take command of a corps in the confed¬ 
erate army, but Col. Sellers said, no, his dut}- was at home. 
And he was by no means idle. He was the inventor of the 
famous air torpedo, which came very near destroying the 
Union armies in Missouri, and the city of St. Louis itself. 

His plan was to ffll a torpedo with Greek fire and poisonous 
and deadly missiles, attach it to a balloon, and then let it sail 
away over the hostile camp, and explode at the right moment, 
when the time-fuse burned out. He intended to use this 
invention in the capture of St. Louis, exploding his tor¬ 
pedoes over the city, and raining destruction upon it until 
the army of occupation would gladly capitulate. He was un¬ 
able to procure the Greek fire, but he constructed a vicious 
torpedo which would have answered the purpose, but the first 



172 


LAURA’S LIFE AT HAWKEYE. 


one prematurely exjDloded in his wood-house, blowing it clean 
away, and setting hre to his house. The neighbors helped 
him put out the conflagration, but they discouraged any 
more experiments of that sort. 

The patriotic old gentleman, however, planted so much 
powder and so many explosive contrivances in the roads lead¬ 
ing into Hawkeye, and then forgot the exact spots of danger, 
that people were afraid to travel the highways, and used to 
come to town across the flelds. The Colonel’s motto was, 
“ Millions for defence but not one cent for tribute.” 

When Laura came to Llawkeye she might have forgotten 
the annoyances of the gossij^s of Murpheysburg and have out¬ 
lived the bitterness that was growing in her heart, if she had 
been thrown less upon herself, or if the surroundings of her 
life had been more congenial and helpful. But she had little 
society, less and less as she grew older that was congenial to 
her, and her mind preyed upon itself, and the mystery of her 
birth at once chagrined her and raised in her the most extrav^- 
agant expectations. 

She was proud and she felt the sting of poverty. She 
could not but be conscious of her beauty also, and she was 
vain of that, and came to take a sort of delight in the exercise 
of her fascinations upon the rather loutish young men who 
came in her way and whom she despised. 

There was another world opened to her—a world of books. 
But it was not the best world of that sort, for the small 
libraries she had access to in Hawkeye were decidedly miscel¬ 
laneous, and largely made up of romances and fictions which 
fed her imagination with the most exaggerated notions of life, 
and showed her men and women in a very false sort of 
heroism. From these stories she learned what a woman of 
keen intellect and some culture joined to beauty and fascina¬ 
tion of manner, might expect to accomplish in society as she 
read of it; and along with these ideas she imbibed other very 
crude ones in regard to the emancipation of woman. 

There were also other books^histories, biographies of 


COL. SELBY AND LOVE. 


173 


distinguished people, travels in far lands, poems, especially 
those of Byron, Scott and Shelley and Moore, which she eagerly 
absorbed, and appropriated therefrom what was to her liking. 
Nobody in Hawkeye had read so much or, after a fashion, 
studied so diligently as Laura. She passed for an accom¬ 
plished girl, and no doubt thought herself one, as she was, 
judged by any standard near her. 

During the war there came to Hawkeye a confederate 
officer. Col. Selby, who was stationed there for a time, in 
command of that district. He was a handsome, soldierly 
man of thirty years, a graduate of the University of Virginia, 
and of distinguished family, if his story might be believed, 
and, it was evident, a man of the world and of extensive 
travel and adventure. 

To find in such an out of the way country place a woman 
like Laura was a piece of good luck upon which Col. Selby 
congratulated himself. He was studiously polite to her and 
treated her with a consideration to which she was unaccus¬ 
tomed. She had read of such men, but she had never seen 
one before, one so high-bred, so noble in sentiment, so enter¬ 
taining in conversation, so engaging in manner. 

It is a long story; unfortunately it is an old story, and it 
need not be dwelt on. Laura loved him, and believed that 
his love for her was as pure and deep as her own. She wor¬ 
shipped him and would have counted her life a little thing to 
give him, if he would onl}^ love her and let her feed the hun¬ 
ger of her heart upon him. 

The passion possessed her whole being, and lifted her up, 
till she seemed to walk on air. It was all true, then, the 
romances she had read, the bliss of love she had dreamed of. 
Why had she never noticed before how blithesome the world 
was, how jocund with love ; the birds sang it, the trees whis¬ 
pered it to her as she passed, the very flowers beneath her 
feet strewed the way as for a bridal march. 

When the Colonel went away they were engaged to be 
married, as soon as he could make certain arrangements 


174 


LAURA MARRIED. 


which he represented to be necessary, and quit the army. 

He wrote to her from Harding, a small town in the south¬ 
west corner of the state, saying that he should be held in the 
service longer than he had expected, but that it would not be 
more than a few months, then he should be at liberty to take her 
to Chicago where he had property, and should have business, 
either now or as soon as the war was over, which he thought 
could not last long. Meantime why should they be separat¬ 
ed ? He was established in comfortable quarters, and if she 
could find company and join him, they would be married, 
and gain so many more months of happiness. 

Was woman ever prudent wdien she loved? Laura went 
to Harding, the neighbors supposed to nurse Washington 
who had fallen ill there. 

Her engagement was, of course, known in Hawkeye, and 
was indeed a matter of pride to her family. Mrs. Hawkins 
would have told the first inquirer that Laura had gone to be 
married ; but Laura had cautioned her; she did not want to 
be thought of, she said, as going in search of a husband; let 
the news come back after she was married. 

So she traveled to Harding on the pretence we have men¬ 
tioned,‘and was married. She was married, but somethinr; 
must have happened on that very day or the next that 
alarmed her. W ashington did not know then or after what 
it was, but Laura bound him not to send news of her mar¬ 
riage to Hawkeye yet, and to enjoin her mother not to speak 
of it. Whatever cruel suspicion or nameless dread this was, 
Laura tried bravely to put it away, and not let it cloud her 
happiness. 

Communication that summer, as may be imagined, was 
neither regular nor frequent between the remote confederate 
camp at Harding and Hawkeye, and Laura was in a measure 
lost sight of—indeed, everyone had troubles enough of his 
own without borrowing from his neighbors. 

Laura had given herself utterly to her husband, and if he 
bad faults, if he was selfish, if he was sometimes coarse, if 




LAURA SWOONS AT COL. SELBY'S WOEJDS. 


% 





















































































































































































































































































PERFIDY AND DESERTION. 


175 


he was dissipated, she did not or would not see it. It was 
the passion of her life, the time when her whole nature 
went to flood tide and swept away all barriers. Was her 
husband ever cold or indifferent? She shut her eyes to 
everything but her sense of possession of her idol. 

Three months passed. One morning her husband informed 
her that he had been ordered South, and must go within two 
hours. 

‘‘ I can be ready,” said Laura, cheerfully. 

But I can’t take you. You must go back to Hawkeye.” 

‘‘ Can’t—take—me ? ” Laura asked, with wonder in her 
eyes. “ I can’t live without you. You said ”— 

0 bother what I said ”■—and the Colonel took up his 
sword to buckle it on, and then continued coolly, “ the fact is 
Laura, our romance is played out.” 

Laura heard, but she did not comprehend. She caught his 
arm and cried, “ George, how can you joke so cruelly ? I 
will go any where with you. I will wait any where. I can’t 
go back to Hawkeye.” 

“Well, go where you like. Perhaps,” continued he with 
a sneer, “ you would do as well to wait here, for another 
colonel.” 

Laura’s brain whirled. She did not yet comprehend. 
“ What does this mean ? Where are you going ? ” 

“ It means,” said the officer, in measured words, “ that yon 
haven’t anything to show for a legal marriage, and that I am 
going to Hew Orleans.” 

“ It’s a lie, George, it’s a lie. I am your wife. I shall go. 
I shall follow you to Hew Orleans.” 

“ Perhaps my wife might not like it! ” 

Laura raised her head, her eyes flamed with fire, she tried 
to utter a cry, and fell senseless on the floor. 

When she came to herself the Colonel was gone. Wash¬ 
ington Hawkins stood at her bedside. Did she come to Imr 
self Was there anything left in her heart but hate and 
bitterness, a sense of an infamous wrong at the hands of the 
only man she had ever loved ? 


176 


WHEREIN LAURA WAS CHANGED. 


She returned to Hawkeye. With the exception of Wash¬ 
ington and his mother, no one knew what had happened. 
The neighbors supposed that the engagement with Col. Selby 
had fallen through. Laura was ill for a long time, but she 
recovered ; she had that resolution in her that could conquer 
death almost. And with her health came back her beauty, 
and an added fascination, a something that might be mistaken 
for sadness. Is there a beauty in the knowledge of evil, a 
beauty that shines out in the face of a person whose inward 
life is transformed by some terrible experience ? Is the pathos 
in the eyes of the Beatrice Cenci from her guilt or her 
innocence ? 

Laura was not much changed. The lovely woman had a 
devil in her heart. That was all. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


SBie enttcicfeln fit^ boc^ f^nelle 
Sl«« bcr flud)tigften (Smbfinbung 
Seibcnfc^aften obne ©renjcn 
Unb btc jartlic^fte Serbinbuitg? 

wadjft ju biefer Same 
SDletned ^erjend tieffte S^etgung, 

Unb ba«3 in fie nerliebt fei, 

SBtrb mir faft jvir Ueberjeugung. Heim. 

M r. Harry Brierly drew his pay as an engineer while he 
was living at the City Hotel in Hawkeye. Mr. Thomp¬ 
son had been kind enough to say that it didn’t make any 
difference whether he was with the corps or not; and although 
Harry protested to the Colonel daily and to Washington 
Hawkins that he must go back at once to the line and superin¬ 
tend the lay-out with reference to his contract, yet he did not 
go, but wrote instead long letters to Philip, instructing him 
to keep his eye out, and to let him know when any difficulty 
occurred that required his presence. 

Meantime Harry blossomed out in the society of Hawk- 
eye, as he did in any society where fortune cast him and he 
had the slightest opportunity to expand. Indeed the talents 
of a rich and accomplished young fellow like Harry were 
not likely to go unappreciated in such a place. A land opera¬ 
tor, engaged in vast speculations, a favorite in the select cir¬ 
cles of Hew York, in correspondence with brokers and bank¬ 
ers. intimate with public men at AYashington, one who could 
12 ~- 177 




178 


HAKKY PROPOSES TO APPROPRIATE LAURA. 


play the guitar and touch the banjo lightly, and wlio had an 
eye for a pretty girl, and knew the language of flattery, was 
welcome everywhere in Hawkeye. Even Miss Laura Hawk¬ 
ins thought it worth while to use her fascinations upon him, 
and to endeavor to entangle the volatile fellow in the meshes 
of her attractions. 

“ Gad,” says Harry to the Colonel, she’s a superb creature -, 
she’d make a stir in Hew York, money or no money. There 
are men I know would give her a railroad or an opera house^ 
or whatever she wanted—at least they’d promise.” 

Harry had a way of looking at women as he looked at any¬ 
thing else in the world he wanted, and he half resolved to 
appropriate Miss Laura, during his stay in Hawkeye. Per¬ 
haps the Colonel divined his thoughts, or was offended at 
Harry’s talk, for he replied, 

^‘Ho nonsense, Mr. Brierly. Honsense won’t do in 
Hawkeye, not with my friends. The Hawkins’ blood is 
good blood, all the way from Tennessee. The Hawkinses 
are under the weather now, but their Tennessee property is 
millions when it comes into market.” 

“Of course. Colonel. Hot the least offense intended. 
But you can see she is a fascinating ’woman. I was only 
thinking, as to this appropriation, now, what such a woman 
could do in "VYashington. All correct, too, all correct. Com¬ 
mon thing, I assure you in Washington ; the wives of senators, 
representatives, cabinet officers, all sorts of wives, and some 
who are not wives, use their influence. You want an appoint¬ 
ment? Do you go to Senator X? Hot much. You get on 
the right side of his wife. Is it an appropriation? You’d 
go straight to the Committee, or to the Interior office, I sup¬ 
pose? You’d learn better than that. It takes a woman to 
get any thing through the I^and Office. I tell you, Miss 
Laura would fascinate an appropriation right through the 
Senate and the House of Eepresentatives in one session, if she 
wasTn Washington, as your friend, Coloiifel, of 
friend.” 


USES OF WOMEN IN WASHINGTON. 


179 


‘‘Would you have her sign our petition?” asked the 
Colonel, innocently. 

Harry laughed. “Women don’t get anything bypetition- 



NOT EASILY REFERRED. 


mg Congress; nobody does, that’s for form. Petitions are 
referred somewhere, and that’s the last of them; you can’t 
refer a handsome woman so easily, when she is present. 
They prefer ’em mostly.” 

The petition however was elaborately drawn up, with a 
glowing description of Napoleon and the adjacent country, 
and a statement of the absolute necessity to the prosperity of 
that region and of one of the stations on the great through 
route to tlie Pacific, of the immediate improvement of 









180 


THE PETITION WITH MAPS. 


Columbus River; to this was appended a map of the city 
and a survey of the river. It was signed by all the people 
at Stone’s Landing who could write their names, by Col. 
Beriah Sellers, and the Colonel agreed to have the names 
headed by all the senators and representatives from the state 
and by a sprinkling of ex-governors and ex-members of con¬ 
gress. When completed it was a formidable document. Its 
preparation and that of more minute plots of the new city 
consumed the valuable time of Sellers and Harry for many 
weeks, and served to keep them both in the highest spirits. 

In the eyes of Washington Hawkins, Harry was a superior 
being, a man who was able to bring things to pass in a way 
that excited his enthusiasm. He never tired of listening to 
his stories of what he had done and of what he was going to 
do. As for Washington, Harry thought he was a man of 
ability and comprehension, but “ too visionary,” he told the 
Colonel. The Colonel said he might be right, but he had 
never noticed anything visionary about him. 

“ He’s got his plans, sir. God bless my soul, at his age, I 
was full of plans. But experience sobers a man, I never 
touch any thing now that hasn’t been weighed in my judg¬ 
ment ; and when Beriah Sellers puts his judgment on a thing, 
there it is.” 

Whatever might have been Harry’s intentions with regard 
to Laura, he saw more and more of her every day, until he 
got to be restless and nervous when he was not with her. 
That consummate artist in passion allowed him to believe 
that the fascination was mainly on his side, and so worked 
upon his vanity, while inflaming his ardor, that he scarcely 
knew what he was about. Her coolness and coyness were 
even made to appear the simple precautions of a modest ti¬ 
midity, and attracted him even more than the little tenderness 
es into which she was occasionally surprised. He could never 
be away from her long, day or evening; and in a short time 
their intimacy was the town talk. She played with him so 
adroitly that Harry thought she was absorbed in love for 


HAERY AND LAURA. 


181 


him, and yet he was amazed that he did not get on faster in 
his conquest. 

And when he thought of it, lie was piqued as well. A 
country girl, poor enough, that was evident; living with her 
family in a cheap and most unattractive frame house, such as 
carpenters build in America, scantily furnished and una¬ 
dorned ; without the adventitious aids of dress or jewels or 
the fine manners of society—Harry couldn’t understand it. 
But she fascinated him, and held him just beyond the line of 
-absolute familiarity at the same time. While he was with her 
she made him forget that the Hawkins’ house was nothing but 
a w’'Ooden tenement, with four small square rooms on the 
ground fioor and a half story; it might have been a palace 
for aught he knew. 

Perhaps Laura was older than Harry. She was, at any 
rate, at that ripe age when beauty in woman seems more 
solid than in the budding period of girlhood, and she had 
eome to understand her powers perfectly, and to know exactly 
how much of the susceptibility and archness of the girl it 
was profitable to retain. She saw that many women, with 
the best intentions, make a mistake of carrying too much girl¬ 
ishness into womanhood. Such a woman would have attracted 
Harry at any time, but only a woman with a cool brain and 
exquisite art could have made him lose his head in this way; 
for Harry thought himself a man of the world. The young 
fellow never dreamed that he was merely being experimented 
on; he was to her a man of another society and another cul¬ 
ture, difierent from that she had any knowledge of except in 
books, and she was not unwilling to try on him the fascina¬ 
tions of her mind and person. 

For Laura had her dreams. She detested the narrow lim¬ 
its in which her lot was cast, she hated poverty. Much of 
her reading had been of modern works of fiction, written by 
her own sex, which had revealed to her something of her own 
powers and given her indeed, an exaggerated notion of the 
influence, the wealth, the position a 'woman may attain who 
has beauty and talent and ambition and a little culture, and 
ifi not too scrupulous in the the use of them. She wanted to 


182 


WHAT KEPT HARRY IN HAWKEYE. 


be rich, she wanted luxury, she wanted men at her feet, her 
slaves, and she had not—thanks to some of the novels she 
had read—the nicest discrimination between notoriety and 
reputation; perhaps she did not know how fatal notoriety 
usually is to the bloom of womanhood. 

With the other Hawkins children Laura had been brought 
up in the belief that they had inherited a fortune in the Tenn¬ 
essee Lands. She did not by any means share all the delusion 
of the family; but her brain was not seldom busy with 
schemes about it. Washington seemed to her only to dream 
of it and to be willing to wait for its riches to fall upon him 
in a golden shower; but she was impatient, and wished she 
were a man to take hold of the business. 

‘‘ You men must enjoy your schemes and your activity and 
liberty to go about the world,” she said to Harry one day, 
when he had been talking of Hew York and Washington and 
his incessant engagements. 

“ Oh, yes,” replied that martyr to business, it’s all well 
enough, if you don’t have too much of it, but it only has one 
object.” 

“ What is that ? ” 

“ If a w^oman doesn’t know, it’s useless to tell her. What 
do you suppose I am staying in Hawkeye for, week aft(jr 
week, when I ought to be with my corps ? ” 

I suppose it’s your business with Col. Sellers about Hapo- 
leon, you’ve always told me so,” answered Laura, with a look 
intended to contradict her words. 

‘‘ And now I tell you that is all arranged, I suppose you’ll 
tell me I ought to go ? ” 

“Harry!” exclaimed Laura, touching his arm and letting 
her pretty hand rest there a moment. “ Why should I want 
you to go away ? The only person in Hawkeye who under¬ 
stands me.” 

“ But you refuse to understand replied Harry, flattered 
but still petulent. You are like an iceberg, when we are 
alone.” 

Laura looked up with wonder in her great eyes, and some¬ 
thing like a blush suffusing her face, followed by a look of 


A WINTER IN WASHINGTON PROPOSED. 


183 


»angour that penetrated Harry’s heart as if it had been longing. 

Did I ever show any want of confidence in you, Harry ? ” 
And she gave him her hand, which Harry pressed with 
effusion—something in her manner told him that he must be 
content with that favor. 

It was always so. She excited his hopes and denied him, 
infiamed his passion and restrained it, and wound him in 
her toils day by day. To what purpose ? It was keen delight 
to Laura to prove that she had power over men. 

Laura liked to hear about life at the east, and especially 
about the luxurious society in which Mr. Brierly moved when 
he was at home. It pleased her imagination to fancy herself 
a queen in it. 

“ You should be a winter in Washington,” Harry said. 

‘‘But I have no acquaintances there.” 

“Don’t know any of the families of the congressmen? 
They like to have a pretty woman staying with them.” 

“ Hot one.” 

“Suppose Col. Sellers should have business there; say, 
about this Columbus Biver appropriation ? ” 

“ Sellers ! ” and Laura laughed. 

“You needn’t laugh. Queerer things have happened. 
Sellers know^s everybody from Missouri, and from the 
West, too, for that matter. He’d introduce you to Wash¬ 
ington life quick enough. It doesn’t need a crowbar to break 
your v-ay into society there as it does in Philadelphia. It’s 
democratic, Washington is. Money or beauty will open any 
door. If I were a handsome woman, I shouldn’t want any 
better place than the capital to pick up a prince or a fortune.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Laura. “ But I prefer the quiet of 
home, and the love of those I know ; ” and her face wore a 
look of sweet contentment and unworldliness that finished 
Mr. Harry Brierly for the day. 

Nevertheless, the hint that Harry had dropped fell upon 
good ground, and bore fruit an hundred fold; it worked in 
her mind until she had built wp a plan on it, and almost a 
career for herself. Why not, she said, why shouldn’t I do 


184 


COL. SELLERS INTERVIEWED. 


as other women have done ? She took the first opportunity 
to see Col. Sellers, and to sound him about the Washington 
visit. How was he getting on with his navigation scheme, 
would it he likely to take him from home to Jefierson City; 
or to Washington, perhaps? 

Well, maybe. If the people of Hapoleon want me to go 
to Washington, and look after that matter, I might tear 
myself from my home. It’s been suggested to me, but—not a 
word of it to Mrs. Sellers and the children. Maybe they 
wouldn’t like to think of their father in Washington. But 
Dilworthy, Senator Dilworthy, says to me, ‘Colonel, you 
are the man, you could influence more votes than any one 
else on such a measure, an old settler, a man of the people, 
you know the wants of Missouri; you’ve a respect for relig¬ 
ion too, says he, and know how the cause of the gospel goes 
with improvements.’ Which is true enough. Miss Laura, 
and hasn’t been enough thought of in connection with 
Hapoleon. He’s an able man, Dilworthy, and a good man. 
A man has got to be good to succeed as he has. He’s only 
been in Congress a few years, and he must be worth a million. 
First thing in the morning when he stayed with me he asked 
about family prayers, whether we had ’em before or after 
breakfast. I hated to disappoint the Senator, but I had to 
out with it, tell him we didn’t have ’em, not steady. He 
said he understood, business interruptions and all that, some 
men were well enough without, but as for him he never neg¬ 
lected the ordinances of religion. He doubted if the Colum¬ 
bus Hiver appropriation would succeed if we did not invoke 
the Divine Blessing on it.” 

Perhaps it is unnecessary to say to the reader that Senator 
Dilworthy had not stayed with Col. Sellers while he was in 
Hawkeye; this visit to his house being only one of the Col¬ 
onel’s hallucinations—one of those instant creations of his 
fertile fancy, which were always flashing into his brain and 
out of his mouth in the course of any conversation and with¬ 
out interrupting the flow of it. 

During the summer Philip rode across the country and 
made a short visit in Hawkeye, giving Harry an opportunity 


PHILIP VISITS LAURA. 


185 


to show liim the progress that he and the Colonel had made 
in their operation at Stone’s Landing, to introduce him also 
to Laura, and to borrow a little money when he departed. 
Harry bragged about his conquest, as was his habit, and took 
Philip round to see his western prize. 

Laura received Mr. Philip with a courtesy and a slight 
hauteur that rather surprised and not a little interested him. 
He saw at once that she was older than Harry, and soon made 
up his mind that she was leading his friend a country dance 
to which he was unaccustomed. At least he thought he saw 
that, and half hinted as much to Harry, who flared up at 
once; but on a second visit Philip was not so sure, the young 
lady was certainly kind and friendly and almost conflding 
with Harry, and treated Philip with the greatest considera¬ 
tion. She deferred to his opinions, and listened attentively 
when he talked, and in time met his frank manner with an 
equal frankness, so that he was quite convinced that what¬ 
ever she might feel towards Harry, she was sincere with him. 
Perhaps his manly way did win her liking. Perhaps in her 
mind, she compared him with Harry, and recognized in 
him a man to whom a woman might give her whole soul, 
recklessly and with little care if she lost it. Philip was 
not invincible to her beauty nor to the intellectual charm of 
her presence. 

The week seemed very short that he passed in Hawkeye, 
and when he bade Laura good by, he seemed to have known 
her a year. 

‘‘We shall see you again, Mr. Sterling,” she said as she 
gave him her hand, with just a shade of sadness in her hand¬ 
some eyes. 

And when he turned away she followed him with a look 
that might have disturbed his serenity, if he had not at the 
moment had a little square letter in his breast pocket, dated 
at Philadelphia, and signed “ Kuth.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

—t 3 tt<vb<vll biot)T)5loji<xc 30 Ti}bu<vi6 T)ii)t)]‘ct)e T)UTil<vbTi<v 
ce-jlle,"] coTi)<vi|vle, 50 ccAibbjvib xe]jice itj-ci bfieic <vcc<vti 
I ti 5<vc <vet) <vc <<x cfob— 

T he visit of Senator Abner Dilwortby was an event in 
Hawkeye. When a Senator, whose place is in Washing¬ 
ton moving among the Great and guiding the destinies of the 
nation, condescends to mingle among the people and accept 
the hospitalities of such a place as Hawkeye, the honor is not 
considered a light one. All parties are flattered by it and 
politics are forgotten in the presence of one so distinguished 
among his fellows. 

Senator Dilworthy, who was from a neighboring state, 
had been a Unionist in the darkest days of his country, and 
had thriven by it, but was that any reason why Col. Sellers, 
who had been a confederate and had not thriven by it, should 
give him the cold shoulder ? 

The Senator was the guest'of his old friend Gen. Boswell, 
but it almost appeared that he was indebted to Col. Sellers 
for the unreserved hospitalities of the town. It was the 
large hearted Colonel who, in a manner, gave him the free¬ 
dom of the city. 

“You are known here, sir,” said the Colonel,“ and Hawkeye 
is proud of you. Y"ou will find every door open, and a wel¬ 
come at every hearthstone. I should insist upon your going 


A SPECULATING PACE. 


187 


to my house, if you were not claimed by your older friend 
Gen. Boswell. But you will mingle with our people, and 
you will see here developments that will surprise you.” 

The Colonel was so profuse in his hospitality that he must 
have made the impression upon himself that he had enter¬ 
tained the Senator at his own mansion during his stay ; at 
any rate, he afterwards always spoke of him as his guest, and 
not seldom referred to the Senator’s relish of certain viands 
on his table. He did, in fact, press him to dine upon the 
morning of the day the Senator was going away. 

Senator Dilworthy was large and portly, though not tall 
—a pleasant spoken man, a popular man with the people. 

He took a lively interest in the town and all the surround¬ 
ing country, and made many inquiries as to tlie progress of 
agriculture, of education, and of religion, and especially as to 
the condition of the emancipated race. 

“ Providence,” he said, “ has placed them in our hands, 
and although you and I, General, might have chosen a differ¬ 
ent destiny for them, under the Constitution, yet Providence 
knows best.” 

You can’t do much with ’em,” interrupted Col. Sellers. 
“ They are a speculating race, sir, disinclined to work for 
white folks without security, planning how to live by only 
working for themselves. Idle, sir, there’s my garden just 
a ruin of weeds. Nothing practical in ’em.” 

“ There is some truth in your observation. Colonel, but you 
must educate them.” 

“ You educate the niggro and you make him more specu¬ 
lating than he was before. If he won’t stick to any industry 
except for himself now, what will he do then?” 

“ But, Colonel, the negro v^hen educated will be more able 
to make his speculations fruitful.” 

“ Never, sir, never. He would only have a wider scope to 
injure himself. A niggro has no grasp, sir. Now, a white 
man can conceive great operations, and carry them out; a 
niggro can’t.” 

“ Still,” replied the Senator, “granting that he might injure 


188 


THE SENATOR’S RECEPTION. 


himself in a worldly point of view, liis elevation through 
education would multiply his chances for the hereafter— 
wliich is the important thing after all, Colonel. And no 
matter what the result is, we must fulfill our duty by this 
being.” 

I’d elevate his soul,” promptly responded the Colonel; 
that’s just it; you can’t make his soul too immortal, but I 
wouldn’t touch him, himself. Yes, sir! make his soul 
immortal, but don’t disturb the niggro as he is.” 

Of course one of the entertainments offered the Senator 
was a public reception, held in the court house, at which he 
made a speech to his fellow citizens, Col. Sellers was master 
of ceremonies. He escorted the band from the city hotel to 
Cen. Boswell’s; he marshalled the procession of Masons, of 
Odd Fellows, and of Firemien, the Good Templars, the Sons 
of Temperance, the Cadets of Temperance, the Daughters 
of Bebecca, the Sunday School children, and citizens gener¬ 
ally, which followed the Senator to the court house ; he bus¬ 
tled about the room long after every one else was seated, and 



ORDER, GENTLEMEN, 


loudly cried Order!” in the dead silence which preceded, 
the introduction of the Senator by Gen. Boswell. The occasion 
was one to call out his finest powers of personal appearance, 
and one he long dwelt on with pleasure. 





















THE SENATOR’S SPEECH. 


189 


This not being an edition of the Congressional Globe it is 
impossible to give Senator Dilworthy’s speech in full. He 
began somewhat as follows:— 

‘‘ Fellow citizens: It gives me great pleasure to thus meet 
and mingle with you, to lay aside for a moment tlie heavy 
duties of an official and burdensome station, and confer in 
familiar converse with my friends in your great state. The 
good opinion of my fellow citizens of all sections is the sweet¬ 
est solace in all my anxieties. I look forward with longing 
to the time when I can lay aside the cares of office—” 
[“ dam sight,” shouted a tipsy fellow near the door. Cries of 
“ put him out.” ] 

‘‘ My friends, do not remove him. Let the misguided man 
stay. I see that he is a victim of that evil which is swallow¬ 
ing up public virtue and sapping the foundation of society. 
As I was saying, when I can lay down the cares of office and 
retire to the sweets of private life in some such sweet, peace¬ 
ful, intelligent, wide-awake and patriotic place as Hawkeye 
(applause). I have traveled much, I have seen all parts of 
our glorious union, but I have never seen a lovelier village 
than yours, or one that has more signs of commercial and 
industrial and religious prosperity—(more applause).” 

The Senator then launched into a sketch of our great 
country, and dwelt for an hour or more upon its prosperity 
and the dangers which threatened it. 

He then touched reverently upon the institutions of relig¬ 
ion, and upon the necessity of private purity, if we were to 
have any public morality. “ I trust,” he said, “ that there 
are children within the sound of my voice,” and after some 
remarks to them, the Senator closed with an apostrophe to 
‘‘the genius of American Liberty, walking with the Sunday 
School in one hand and Temperance in the other up the glo¬ 
rified steps of the National Capitol.” 

Col. Sellers did not of course lose the opportunity to 
impress upon so influential a person as the Senator the 
desirability of improving the navigation of Columbus river. 
He and Mr. Brierly took the Senator over to Napoleon and 
opened to him their plan. It was a plan that the Senator 


190 


THE EAILROAD THAT “ HAINT COME.” 


could understand without a great deal of explanation, for he 
seemed to be familiar with the like improvements elsewhere. 
When, however, they reached Stone’s Landing the Senator 
looked about him and inquired, 

“ Is this ^lapoleon?” 

“ This is the nucleus, the nucleus,” said the Colonel, unroll¬ 
ing his map. ‘‘ Here is the deepo, the church, the City Hall 
and so on.” 

Ah, I see. How far from here is Columbus Hivor ? 
Does that stream empty—” 

“ That, why, that’s Goose Eun. Thar ain’t no Columbus, 
thout’n it’s over to Hawkeye,” interrupted one of the citizens, 
who had come out to stare at the strangers. “ A railroad 
come here last summer, but it haint been here no mo’.” 

“Yes, sir,” the Colonel hastened to explain, “ in the old 
records Columbus Eiver is called Goose Eun. Yon see how 
it sweeps round the town—forty-nine miles to the Missouri; 
sloop navigation all the way pretty much, drains this whole 
country ; when it’s improved steamboats will run right up 
here. It’s got to be enlarged, deepened. You see by the 
map, Columbus Eiver. This country must have water com¬ 
munication !” 

“You’ll want a considerable appropriation. Col. Sellers. 

“ I should say a million; is that your figure Mr. Brierly.” 

“ According to our surveys,” said Harry, “ a million would 
do it; a million spent on the river wouid make Hapoleon 
worth two millions at least.” 

“ I see,” nodded the Senator. “ But you’d better begin by 
asking only for two or three hundred thousand, the usual 
way. You can begin to sell town lots on that appropriation, 
you know.” 

The Senator, himself, to do him justice, was not very much 
interested in the country or the stream,but he favored the appro 
priation, and he gave the Colonel and Mr. Brierly to understand 
that he would endeavor to get it through. Harry, who 
thought he was shrewd and understood Washington, suggest¬ 
ed an interest. 


WASHINGTON IN LUCK. 


191 


But lie saw tliat the Senator was wounded by the sugges¬ 
tion. 

“ You will offend me by repeating such an observation,” 
he said. Whatever I do will be for the public interest. It 
will require a portion of the appropriation for necessary ex¬ 
penses, and I am sorry to say that there are members who 
will have to be seen. But you can reckon upon my humble 
services.” 

This aspect of the subject was not again alluded to. The 
Senator possessed himself of the facts, not from his observa¬ 
tion of the ground, but from the lips of Col. Sellers, and laid 
the appropriation scheme away among his other plans for 
benefiting the public. 

It was on this visit also that the Senator made the acquaint¬ 
ance of Mr. Washington Hawkins, and was greatly taken 
with his innocence, his guileless manner and perhaps with 
his ready adaptability to enter upon any plan proposed. 

Col. Sellers was pleased to see this interest that Washing¬ 
ton had awakened, especially since it was likely to further his 
expectations with regard to the Tennessee lands; the Senator 
having remarked to the Colonel, that he delighted to help 
any deserving young man, when the promotion of a private 
advantage could at the same time be made to contribute to 
the general good. And he did not doubt that this was an 
opportunity of that kind. 

The result of several conferences with Washington was 
that the Senator proposed that he should go to Washington 
with him and become his private secretary and the secretary 
of his committee; a proposal which was eagerly accepted. 

The Senator spent Sunday in Ilawkeye and attended 
church. He cheered the heart of the worthy and zealous 
minister by an expression of his sympathy in his labors, and 
by many inquiries in regard to the religious state of the 
region. It was not a very promising state, and the good man 
felt how much lighter his task would be, if he had the aid of 
such a man as Senator Dilworthy. 

‘‘ I am glad to see, my dear sir,” said the Senator, “ that 
you give them the doctrines. It is owing to a neglect of the 


192 


THE SENATOR MEETS LAURA. 


doctrines, that there is such a fearful falling away in tlie 
country. I wish that we might have you in "Washington— 
as chaplain, now, in the senate.” 

The good man could not but be a little flattered, and if 
sometimes, thereafter, in his discouraging work, he allowed 
the thought that he might perhaps be called to Washington 
as chaplain of the Senate, to cheer him, who can wonder. 
The Senator’s commendation at least did one service for him, 
it elevated him in the opinion of Hawkeye. 

Laura was at church alone that day, and Mr. Brierly walked 
home with her. A part of their way lay with that of Gen¬ 
eral Boswell and Senator Dilworthy, and introductions were 
made. Laura had her own reasons for wishing to know the 
Senator, and the Senator was not a man who could be called 
indiiferent to charms such as hers. That meek young 
lady so commended herself to him in the short walk, that he 



THE senator’s WALK. 


announced his intentions of paying his respects to her the 
next day, an intention which Harry received glumly; aii<? 







HARKY JEALOUS AND INFATUATED. 


193 


when the Senator was out of hearing he called him an old 
fool.” 

“ Fie,” said Laura, “ I do believe you are jealous, Harry. 
He is a very pleasant man. He said you were a young man 
of great promise.” 

The Senator did call next day, and the result of his 
visit was that he was confirmed in his impression that there 
was something about him very attractive to ladies. He saw 
Laura again and again during his stay, and felt more and more 
the subtle influence of her feminine beauty, which every man 
felt who came near her. 

Harry was beside himself with rage wdiile the Senator re¬ 
mained in town; he declared that women were always ready 
to drop any man for higher game; and he attributed his own 
ill-luck to the Senator’s appearance. The fellow was in fact 
crazy about her beauty and ready to beat his brains out in 
chagrin. Perhaps Laura enjoyed his torment, but she sooth¬ 
ed him with blandishments that increased his ardor, and she 
smiled to herself to think that he had, with all his protesta¬ 
tions of love, never spoken of marriage. Probably the viva^ 
cious fellow never had thought of it. At any rate when he 
at length went away from Hawkeye he was no nearer it, 
But there was no telling to what desperate lengths his passioi> 
might not carry him. 

Laura bade him good bye with tender regret, which, h6w 
ever, did not disturb her peace or interfere with her plana. 
The visit of Senator Dilworthy had become of more impor¬ 
tance to her, and it by and by bore the fruit she longed for, 
in an invitation to visit his family in the Kational Capital 
during the winter session of Congress. 

13 


i 


CHAPTER XXL 


Unusquisque sua noverit ire via.— 
Propert. Eleg. 25. 


0 lift your natures up: 

Embrace our aims: work out your freedom. Girls, 


Knowledge is now no more a fountain sealed; 
Drink deep until the habits of the slave, 

The sins of emptiness, gossip and spite 
And slander, die. 


The Princess. 


HETHER medicine is a science, or only an empirical 



T T method of getting a living ont of the ignoraoceof the 
human race, Ruth found before her first term was over at 
the medical school that there were other things she needed 
to know quite as much as that which is taught in medical 
books, and that she could never satisfy her aspirations with¬ 
out more general culture. 

“ Does your doctor know any thing—I don’t mean about 
medicine, but about things in general, is he a man of infor¬ 
mation and good sense?” once asked an old practitioner. 
“ If he doesn’t know any thing but medicine the chance is he 
doesn’t know that.” 

The close application to her special study was beginning 
to tell upon Ruth’s delicate health also, and the summer 
brought with it only weariness and indisposition for any 
mental effort. 

In this condition of mind and body the quiet of her home 
and the unexciting companionship of those about her were 
more than ever tiresome. 

She followed with more interest Philip’s sparkling account 


194 


RUTH AT A SEMINARY. 


196 


of his life in the west, and longed for his experiences, and 
to know some of those people of a world so different from 
hers, who alternately amused and displeased him. He at 
least was learning the world, the good and the bad of it, as 
must happen to every one who accomplishes anything in it. 

But what, Huth wrote, could a woman do, tied up by cus¬ 
tom, and cast into particular circumstances out of which it 
was almost impossible to extricate herself? Philip thought 
that he would go some day and extricate Puth, but he did 
not write that, for he had the instinct to know that this was 
not the extrication she dreamed of, and that she must find 
out by her own experience what her heart really wanted. 

Philip was not a philosopher, to be sure, but he had the 
old fashioned notion, that whatever a woman’s theories of 
life might be, she would come round to matrimony, only 
give her time. He could indeed recall to mind one woman— 
and he never knew a nobler—whose whole soul was devoted 
and who believed that her life was consecrated to a certain 
benevolent project in singleness of life, who yielded to the 
touch of matrimony, as an icicle yields to a sunbeam. 

Neither at home nor elsewhere did Kuth utter any com¬ 
plaint, or admit any weariness or doubt of her ability to pur¬ 
sue the path she had marked out for herself. But her mother 
€aw clearly enough her struggle with infirmity, and was not 
deceived by either her gaiety or by the cheerful composure 
which she carried into all the ordinary duties that fell to her. 
8he saw plainly enough that Puth needed an entire change 
of scene and of occupation, and perhaps she believed that 
such a change, with the knowledge of the world it would 
bring, would divert Puth from a course for which she felt 
she was physically entirely unfitted. 

It therefore suited the wishes of all concerned, when autumn 
came, that Puth should go away to school. She selected a 
large New England Seminary, of which she had often heard 
Philip speak, which was attended by both sexes and offered 
almost collegiate advantages of education. Thither she went 
in September, and began for the second time in the year a 
life new to her. 


196 


THE MONTAGUES. 


The Seminary was the chief feature of Fallkill, a village 
of two to three thousand inhabitants. It was a prosperous 
school, with three hundred students, a large corps of teachers, 
men and women, and with a venerable rusty row of academic 
buildings on the shaded square of the town. The students 
lodged and boarded in private families in the place, and so it 
came about that while the school did a great deal to support the 
town, the town gave the students society and the sweet influ¬ 
ences of home life. It is at least respectful to say that the 
influences of home life are sweet. 

Kutli’s home, by the intervention of Philip, was in a fam¬ 
ily—one of the rare exceptions in life or in fiction—that had 
never known better days. The Montagues, it is perhaps well 
to say, had intended to come over in the Mayflower, but were 
detained at Delft Haven by the illness of a child. They came 
over to Massachusetts Bay in another vessel, and thus escaped 
the onus of that brevet nobility under which the successors 
of the Mayflower Pilgrims have descended. Having no 
factitious weight of dignity to carry, the Montagues steadily 
improved their condition from the day they landed, and they 
were never more vigorous or prosperous than at the date of 
this narrative. With character compacted by the rigid Puri¬ 
tan discipline of more than two centuries, they had retained 
its strength and purity and thrown off its narrowness, and 

were now blossoming un¬ 
der the generous modern 
influences. Squire Oli¬ 
ver Montague, a lawyer 
who had retired from the 
practice of his profession 
except in rare cases, 
dwelt in a square old 
fashioned Hew England 
mansion a quarter of a 
mile away from the green. It was called a mansion because 
it stood alone with ample fields about it, and had an avenue 
of trees leading to it from the road, and on the west commanded 
a view of a pretty little lake with gentle slopes and nodding 



A NEW ENGLAND HOME. 19T 

groves. But it was just a plain, roomy house, capable of 
extending to many guests an unpretending hospitality. 

The family consisted of the Squire and his wife, a son and 
a daughter married and not at home, a son in college at Cam¬ 
bridge, another son at the Seminary, and a daughter Alice, 
who was a year or more older than Ruth. Having only 
riches enough to be able to gratify reasonable desires, and 
yet make their gratifications always a novelty and a pleasure, 
the family occupied that just mean in life which is so rarely 
attained, and still more rarely enjoyed without discontent. 

If Ruth did not find so much luxury in the house as in her 
own home, there were evidences of culture, of intellectual 
activity and of a zest in the affairs of all the world, which 
greatly impressed her. Every room had its book-cases or 
book-shelves, and was 
more or less a library; 
upon every table was lia¬ 
ble to be a litter of new 
books, fresh periodicals and 
daily newspapers. There 
were plants in the sunny 
windows and some choice 
engravings on the walls, 
with bits of color in oil or 
water-colors; the piano 
was sure to be open and 
strewn with music; and there were photographs and lit¬ 
tle souvenirs here and there of foreign travel. An absence 
of any what-nots ” in the corners with rows of cheerful 
shells, and Hindoo gods, and Chinese idols, and nests of use¬ 
less boxes of lacquered wood, might be taken as denot¬ 
ing a languid ness in the family concerning foreign 
missions, but perhaps unjustly. 

At any rate the life of the world flowed freely into this 
hospitable house, and there was always so much talk there of 
the news of the day, of the new books and of authors, of 
Boston radicalism and Hew York civilization, and the virtue 




















198 


NEW FRIENDSHIP. 


of Congress, that small gossip stood a very poor chance. 

All this was in many ways so new to Huth that she seemed 
to have passed into another world, in which she experienced a 
freedom and a mental exhilaration unknown to her before. 
Under this influence she entered upon her studies wntli keen 
enjoyment, finding for a time all the relaxation she needed, 
in the charming social life at the Montague house. 

It is strange, she wrote to Philip, in one of her occasional 
letters, that you never told me more about this delightful 
family, and scarcely mentioned Alice wdio is the life of it, 
just the noblest girl, unselfish, knows how to do so many 
things, with lots of talent, with a dry humor, and an odd way 
of looking at things, and yet quiet and even serious often— 
one of your “capable” New England girls. We shall be 
great friends. It had never occurred to Philip that there was 
any thing extraordinary about the family that needed men¬ 
tion. He knew dozens of girls like Alice, he thought to him¬ 
self, but only one like Puth. 

Good friends the two girls were from the beginning. 
Ruth was a study to Alice, the product of a culture entirely 
foreign to her experience, so much a child in some things, 
BO much a woman in others; and Ruth in turn, it must be 
confessed, probing Alice sometimes with her serious grey 
eyes, wondered what her object in life was, and wPether she 
had any purpose beyond living as she now saw her. For 
she could scarcely conceive of a life that should not be devo¬ 
ted to the accomplishment of some definite work, and she 
had no doubt that in her own case everything else would 
yield to the professional career she had marked out. 

“ So you know Philip Sterling,” said Ruth one day as the 
girls sat at their sewing. Ruth never embroidered, and 
never sewed when she could avoid it. Bless her. 

“ Oh yes, we are old friends. Philip used to come to 
Fallkill often while he was in college. He was once rustica* 
ted here for a term.” 

“ Rusticated ? ” 


PHILIP ENQUIRED AFTER. 


199 


“Suspended for some College scrape. He was a great 
favorite here. Father and he were famous friends. Father 
said that Philip had no end of nonsense m him and was 
always blundering into something, but he was a royal good 
fellow and would come out all right*” 

“Did you think he was fickle?” 

“Why, I never thought whether he was or not,” replied 
Alice looking up. “ I suppose he was always in love with 
some girl or another, as college boys are. He used to make 
me his confidant now and then, and be terribly in the 
dumps.” 

“ Why did he come to you ? ” pursued Kuth you were 
younger than he.” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know. He was at our house a good deal. 
Once at a picnic by the lake, at the risk of his own life, he 
saved sister Millie from drowning, and we all liked to have 
him here. Perhaps he thought as he had saved one sister, 
the other ought to help him when he was in trouble. I don’t 
know.” 

The fact was that Alice was a person who invited confi¬ 
dences, because she never betrayed them, and gave abundant 
sympathy in return. There are persons, whom we all know, 
to whom human confidences, troubles and heart-aches fiow as 
naturally as streams to a placid lake. 

This is not a history of Fallkill, nor of the Montague fam¬ 
ily, worthy as both are of that honor, and this narrative can¬ 
not be diverted into long loitering with them. If the reader 
visits the village to-day, he will doubtless be pointed out the 
Montague dwelling, where Puth lived, the cross-lots path she 
traversed to the Seminary, and the venerable chapel with its 
cracked bell. 

In the little society of the place, the Quaker girl was a 
favorite, and no considerable social gathering or pleasure party 
was thought complete without her. There was something in 
this seemingly transparent and yet deep character, in her 
childlike gaiety and enjoyment of the society about her, and 


200 


RUTH IN SOCIETY. 


in her not seldom absorption in herself, that would have 
made her long remembered there if no events had subsequent¬ 
ly occurred to recall her to mind. 

To the surprise of Alice, Ruth took to the small gaieties of 
the village with a zest of enjoyment that seemed foreign to 
one who had devoted her life to a serious profession from the 
highest motives. Alice liked society well enough, she thought, 
but there was nothing exciting in that of Fallkill, nor any¬ 
thing novel in the attentions of the well-bred young gentle¬ 
men one met in it. It must have worn a different aspect to 
Ruth, for she entered into its pleasures at lirst with curi¬ 
osity, and then with interest and finally with a kind of staid 
abandon that no one would have deemed possible for her. 
Parties, picnics, rowing-matches, moonlight strolls, nutting- 



tion. The fondness of Ruth, which was scarcely disguised, 
for the company of agreeable young fellows, who talked 
nothings, gave Alice opportunity for no end of banter. 


“ Do you look upon them as ‘subjects,’ dear?” she would 
ask. 

And Ruth laughed her merriest laugh, and then looked 
sober again. Perhaps she was thinking, after ai, whether 
she knew herself. 



















MISTAKES OF NOVELISTS. 


201 


If yon should rear a duck in the heart of the Sahara, no 
doubt it would swim if you brought it to the Nile. 

Surely no one would have predicted when Ruth left Phil¬ 
adelphia that she w^ould become absorbed to this extent, and 
so happy, in a life so unlike that she thought she desired. 
But no one can tell how a woman will act under any circum¬ 
stances. The reason novelists nearly always fail in depicting 
women when they make them act, is that they let them do 
what they have observed some woman has done at sometime 
or another. And that is where they make a mistake; for a 
woman wdll never do again what has been done before. It is 
this uncertainty that causes women, considered as materials 
for fiction, to be so interesting to themselves and to others. 

As the fall went on and the winter, Ruth did not distin¬ 
guish herself greatly at the Fallkill Seminary as a student, a 
fact that apparently gave her no anxiety, and did not dimin¬ 
ish her enjoyment of a new sort of power which had awaken* 
ed within her. 










CHAPTER XXII. 


Wohl giebt es im Lpben kein siisseres Gliick, 

Als der Liebe Gestandniss im Liebcheu’s Blick; 

Wold giebt es im Leben nicht hohere Lust, 

Als Freuden der Liebe an liebender Brust. 

Dem hat nie das Leben freundlich begegnet, 

Den nicht die Weihe der Liebe gesegnet. 

Doch der Liebe Gltick, so himmlisch, so schon, 

Kann nie ohne Glauben an Tugend bestehn. 

Komer. 

O ke aloha ka mea i oi aku ka maikai mamua o ka umeki poi a me ka 
ipukaia. 

I X mid-winter, an event occurred of unusual interest to the 
inhabitants of the Montague house, and to the friends of 
the young ladies who sought their society. 

This was the arrival at the Sassacus Hotel of two young 
gentlemen from the west. 

It is the fashion in Xew England to give Indian names to 
the public houses, not that the late lamented savage knew 
how to keep a hotel, but that his warlike name may impress 
the traveler who humbly craves shelter there, and make him 
grateful to the noble and gentlemanly clerk if he is allowed 
to depart with his scalp safe. 

The two young gentlemen were neither students for the 
Fallkill Seminary, nor lecturers on physiology, nor yet life 
assurance solicitors, three suppositions that almost exhausted 
the guessing power of the people at the hotel in respect to 

202 


A TKIP EAST. 


203 


the names of “ Philip Sterling and Henry Brierly, Missouri,” 
on the register. They were handsome enough fellows, that 
was evident, browned by out-door exposure, and with a free 
and lordly way about them that almost awed the hotel clerk 
himself. Indeed, he very soon set down Mr. Brierly as a 
gentleman of large fortune, with enormous interests on his 
shoulders. Harry had a way of casually mentioning western 
investments, through lines, the freighting business, and the 
route through the Indian territory to Lower California, which 
was calculated to give an importance to his lightest word. 

“ You’ve a pleasant town here, sir, and the most comfort¬ 
able looking hotel I’ve seen out of Hew York,” said Harry 
to the clerk; “ we shall stay here a few days if you can give 
us a roomy suite of apartments.” 

Harry usually had the best of everything, wherever he 
went, as such fellows always do have in this accommodating 
world. Philip would have been quite content with less ex¬ 
pensive quarters, but there was no resisting Harry’s gener¬ 
osity in such matters. 

Railroad surveying and real-estate operations were at a 
standstill during the winter in Missouri, and the young men 
had taken advantage of the lull to come east, Philip to see if 
there was any disposition in his friends, the railway con¬ 
tractors, to give him a share in the Salt Lick Union Pacific 
Extension, and Harry to open out to his uncle the prospects 
of the new city at Stone’s Landing, and to procure congres¬ 
sional appropriations for the harbor and for making Goose 
Run navigable. Harry had with him a map of that noble 
stream and of the harbor, with a perfect net-work of rail¬ 
roads centering in it, pictures of wharves, crowded with 
steamboats, and of huge grain-elevators on the bank, all of 
which grew out of the combined imaginations of Col. Sellers 
and Mr. Brierly. The Colonel had entire confidence in 
Harry’s influence with Wall street, and with congressmen, to 
bring about the consummation of their scheme, and he waited 
his return in the empty house at Hawkeye, feeding his 


S04 


A VISIT TO TALLKILL. 


pinched family upon the most gorgeous expectations with a 
reckless prodigality. 

“ Don’t let ’em into the thing more than is necessary,” says 
the Colonel to Harry; give ’em a small interest; a lot 
apiece in the suburbs of the Landing ought to do a congress¬ 
man, but I reckon you’ll have to mortgage a part of the city 
itself to the brokers.” 

Harry did not find that eagerness to lend money on Stone’s 
Landing in Wall street which Col. Sellers had expected, (it 
had seen too many such maps as he exhibited), although his 
uncle and some of the brokers looked with more favor on 
the appropriation for improving the navigation of Columbus 
Hiver, and were not disinclined to form a company for that 
purpose. An appropriation was a tangible thing, if you 
could get hold of it, and it made little difierence what it was 
appropriated for, so long as you got hold of it. 

Pending these weighty negotiations, Philip has persuaded 
Harry to take a little run up to Fall kill, a not difficult task, 
for that young man w^ould at any time Lave turned his back 
upon all the land in the West at sight of a new and pretty 
face, and he had, it must be confessed, a facility in love mak¬ 
ing which made it not at all an interference with the more 
serious business of life. He could not, to be sure, conceive 
how Philip could be interested in a young lady who was 
studying medicine, but he had no objection to going, for he 
did not doubt that there were other girls in Fallkill who were 
worth a week’s attention. 

The young men were received at the house of the Mon¬ 
tagues with the hospitality which never failed there. 

‘‘We are glad to see you again,” exclaimed the Squire 
heartily ; “ you are welcome Mr. Brierly, any friend of Phil’s 
is welcome at our house.” 

“ It’s more like home to me, than any place except my own 
home,” cried Philip, as he looked about the cheerful house 
and went through a general hand-shaking. 

“ It’s a long time, thoul^h, since you have been here to say 


MEETING OF RUTH AND PHILIP. 


205 


80,” Alice said, with her father’s frankness of manner; and 
I suspect we owe the visit now to your sudden interest in 
the Fallkill Seminary.” 

Philip’s color came, as it had an awkward way of doing in 
his tell-tale face, but before he could stammer a reply, Harry 
came in with, 

“ That accounts for Phil’s wish to build a Seminary at 
Stone’s Landing, our place in Missouri, when Col. Sellers 
insisted it should be a University. Phil appears to have a 
weakness for Seminaries.” 

‘‘ It would have been better for your friend Sellers,” re¬ 
torted Philip, if he had had a weakness for district schools. 
Col. Sellei’s, Miss Alice, is a great friend of Harry’s, who is 
always trying to build a house by beginning at the top.” 

I suppose it’s as easy to build a University on paper as a 
Seminary, and it looks better,” was Harry’s reflection; at 
which the Squire laughed, and said he quite agreed with him. 
The old gentleman understood Stone’s Landing a good deal 
better than he would have done after an hour’s talk with 
either of it’s expectant proprietors. 

At this moment, and while Philip was trying to frame a 
question that he found it exceedingly difficult to put into 
words, the door opened quietly, and Ruth entered. Taking 
in the group with a quick glance, her eye lighted up, and 
with a merry smile she advanced and shook hands with Philip. 
She was so unconstrained and sincerely cordial, that it made 
that hero of the west feel somehow young, and very ill at 
ease. 

For months and months he had thought of this meeting 
and pictured it to himself a hundred times, but he had never 
imaofined it would be like this. He should meet Ruth unex- 
pectedly, as she was walking alone from the school, perhaps, 
or entering the room where he was waiting for her, and she 
would cry “ Oh! Phil,” and then check herself, and perhaps 
blush, and Philip calm but eager and enthusiastic, would re¬ 
assure her by his warm manner, and he would take her hand 


206 


HARRY ROMANCES. 


impressively, and she would look up timidly, and, after his 

long absence, perhaps he would be permitted to -. 

Good heavens, how many times he had come to this point. 



ANTICIPATIOJJ. REALITY. 

And wondered if it could happen so. Well, well; he had 
never supposed that he should be the one embarrassed, and 
above all by a sincere and cordial welcome. 

“We heard you were at the Sassacus House,” were Ruth’s 
first words ; “ and this I suppose is your friend ? ” 

“ I beg your pardon,” Philip at length blundered out, “this 
is Mr. Brierly of whom I have written you.” 

And Ruth welcomed Harry with a friendliness that 
Philip thought was due to his friend, to be sure, but which 
seemed to him too level with her reception of himself, but 
which Harry received as his due from the other sex. 

Questions were asked about tbe journey and about the 
West, and the conversation became a general one, until Philip 
At length found himself talking with the Squire in relation to 










































HAllRY AMUSES KUTH 


207 


land and railroads and things he couldn’t keep his mind on; 
especially as he heard Euth and Harry in an animated dis¬ 
course, and caught the words ‘‘Hew York,” and “ opera,” and 
reception,” and knew that Harry was giving his imagina¬ 
tion full range in the world of fashion. 

Harry knew all about the opera, green room and all (at 
least he said so) and knew a good many of the operas and 
could make very entertaining stories of their plots, telling how 
the soprano came in here, and the basso here, humming the 
beginning of their airs—tum-ti-tum-ti-ti—suggesting the pro- 



PHILIP HEARS HARRY ENTERTAINING RUTH. 


found dissatisfaction of the basso recitative—down-among- 
the-dead-men—and touching off the whole with an airy grace 
quite captivating ; though he.couldn’t have sung a single air 
through to save himself, and he hadn’t an ear to know 
whether it was sung correctly. All the same he doted on 
the opera, and kept a box there, into which he lounged oc¬ 
casionally to hear a favorite scene and meet his society friends 


















































208 


A LOOK INTO THE FUTURE. 


If Ruth was ever in the city he should be happy to place his 
box at the disposal of Ruth and her friends. Needless to 
say that she was delighted with the offer. 

When she told Philip of it, that discreet young fellow only 
smiled, and said that he hoped she would be fortunate 
enough to be in New York some evening when Harry had 
not already given the use of his private box to some other 
friend. 

The Squire pressed the visitors to let him send for their 
trunks and urged them to stay at his house, and Alice joined 
in the invitation, but Philip had reasons for declining. They 
staid to supper, however, and in the evening Philip had a 
long talk apart with Ruth, a delightful hour to him, in which 
she spoke freely of herself as of old, of her studies at Phila¬ 
delphia and of her plans, and she entered into his adventures 
and prospects in the We. t with a genuine and almost sisterly 
interest; an interest, however, which did not exactly satisfy 
Philip—it was too general and not personal enough to suit 
him. And with all her freedom in speaking of her own hopes, 
Philip could not detect any reference to himself in them; 
whereas he never undertook anything that he did not think 
of Ruth in connection with it, he never made a plan that had 
not reference to her, and he never thought of anything as 
complete if she could not share it. Fortune, reputation— 
these had no value to him except in Ruth’s eyes, and there 
were times when it seemed to him that if Ruth was not on 
this earth, he should plunge off into some remote wilderness 
and live in a purposeless seclusion. 

“ 1 hoped,” said Philip, “ to get a little start in connection 
with this new railroad, and make a little money, so that I 
could come east and engage in something more suited to my 
tastes. I shouldn’t like to live in the West. Would you ? 

“ It never occurred to me whether I would or not,” was 
the unembarrassed reply. One of our graduates went to 
Chicago, and has a nice practice there. I don’t know where I 
shall go. It would mortify mother dreadfully to have me 
driving about Philadelphia in a doctor’s gig.” 


HARRY SPREADS HIMSELF. 


209 


Philip laughed at the idea of it. “ And does it seem as 
necessary to you to do it as it did before you came to Fall 
kill?” 

It was a home question, and went deeper than Philip knew, 
for Kuth at otice thought of practicing her profession among 
the young gentlemen and ladies of her acquaintance in the 
village; but she was reluctant to admit to herself that her 
notions of a career had undergone any change. 

“ Oh, I don’t think I should come to Fallkill to practice, 
but I must do something when I am through school; and 
why not medicine ? ” 

Philip would like to have explained why not, but the ex¬ 
planation would be of no use if it were not already obvious 
to Ruth. ^ 

Harry was equally in his element whether instructing 
Squire Montague about the investment of capital in Missouri, 
the improvement of Columbus River, the project he and 
some gentlemen in Hew York had for making a shorter 
Pacific connection with the Mississippi than the present one; 
or diverting Mrs. Montague with his experience in cooking 
in camp ; or drawing for Miss Alice an amusing picture oi 
the social contrasts of Hew 
England and the border 
where he had been. 

Harry was a very enter¬ 
taining fellow, having his 
imagination to help his 
memory, and telling his 
stories as if he believed 
them—as perhaps he did. 

Alice was greatly amused 
with Harry and listened so 

seriously to his romancing an entertaining fellow. 

that he exceeded his usual limits. Chance allusions to his bach¬ 
elor establishment in town and the place of his family on the 



14 - 



210 HOW TO MAKE A Pi^EASANT EVENING. 

Hudson, could not have been made bj a millionaire more 
naturally. 

“ I should think,” queried Alice, you would rather stay 
in Hew York than to try the rough life at the West you have 
been speaking of.” 

Oh, adventure,” says Harry, “ I get tired of Hew York. 
And besides I got involved in some operations that I had to 
see through. Parties in Hew York only last week wanted 
me to go down into Arizona in a big diamond interest. I 
told them, no, no speculation for me. I’ve got my interests 
in Missouri; and I wouldn’t leave Philip, as long as he stays 
there.” 

When the young gentlemen were on their way back to the 
hotel, Mr. Philip, who was not in very good humor, broke 
out, 

“ What the deuce, Harry, did you go on in that style to 
the Montagues for ? ” 

“ Go on ? ” cried Harry. “ Why shouldn’t I try to make 
a pleasant evening ? And besides, ain’t I going to do those 
things ? What difference does it make about the mood and 
tense of a mere verb ? Didn’t uncle tell me only last Satur¬ 
day, that I might as well go down to Arizona and hunt for 
diamonds ? A fellow might as well make a good impression 
as a poor one.” 

“Honsense. You’ll get to believing your own romancing 
by and by.” 

“Well, you’ll see. When Sellers and I get that appro¬ 
priation, I’ll show you an establishment in town and another 
on the Hudson and a box at the opera.” 

“ Yes, it will be like Col. Sellers’ plantation at Hawkeye. 
Did you ever see that ? ” 

“How, don’t be cross, Phil. She’s just superb, that little 
woman. You never told me.” 

“ Who’s just superb ? ” growled Philip, fancying this turn 
of the conversation less than the other. 

“ Well, Mrs. Montague, if you must know.” And Harry 


PHILIP RECEIVES LIGHT. 


211 


stopped to light a cigar, and then puffed on in silence. 

The little quarrel didn’t last over night, for Harry never 
appeared to cherish any ill-will half a second, and Philip was 
too sensible to continue a row about nothing; and he had 
invited Harry to come with him. 

The young gentlemen stayed in Fallkill a week, and were 
every day at the Montagues, and took part in the winter 
gaieties of the village. There were parties here and there to 
which the friends of Ruth and the Montagues were of course 
invited, and Harry in the generosity of his nature, gave in 
return a little supper at the hotel, very simple indeed, wdth 
dancing in the hall, and some refreshments passed round. 
And Philip found the whole thing in the bill when he came 
to pay it. 

Before the week was over Philip thought he had a new 
light on the character of Ruth. Her absorption in the 
small gaieties of the society there surprised him. He had 
few opportunities for serious conversation with her. There 
was always some butterfly or another flitting about, and when 
Philip showed by his manner that he was not pleased, Ruth 
laughed merrily enough and rallied him on his soberness—she 
declared he w^as getting to be grim and unsocial. He talked 
indeed more with Alice than with Ruth, and scarcely con¬ 
cealed from her the trouble that was in his mind. It needed, 
in fact, no word froip him, for she saw clearly enough what 
was going forward, and knew her sex well enough to know 
there was no remedy for it but time. 

“ Ruth is a dear girl, Philip, and has as much flrmness of 
purpose as ever, but don’t you see she has just discovered that 
she is fond of society ? Don’t you let her see you are selflsh 
about it, is my advice.” 

The last evening they were to spend in Fallkill, they were 
at the Montagues, and Philip hoped that he would And Ruth 
in a different mood. But she was never more gay, and there 
w^as a spice of mischief in her eye and in her laugh. “ Con¬ 
found it,” said Philip to himself, “ she’s in a perfect twitter.” 


212 


SLIGHTLY JEALOUS. 


He would have liked to quarrel with her, and fling himself 
out of the house in tragedy style, going perhaps so far as to 
blindly wander off miles into the country and bathe his 
throbbing brow in tlie chilling rain of the stars, as people do 
in novels; but he had no opportunity. For Huth was as 
serenely unconscious of mischief as women can be at times, 
and fascinated him more than ever with her little demure¬ 
nesses and half-confldences. She even said Thee ” to him 
once in reproach for a cutting speech he began. And the 
sweet little word made his heart beat like a trip-hammer, for 
never in all her life had she said “ thee ” to him before. 

Was she fascinated with Harry’s careless hon homie and 
gay assurance ? Both chatted away in high spirits, and made 
the evening whirl along in the most mirthful manner. Huth 
sang for Harry, and that young gentleman turned the leaves 
for her at the piano, and put in a bass note now and then 
where he thought it would tell. 

Yes, it was a merry evening, and Philip was heartily glad 
when it was over, and the long leave-taking with the family 
was through with. 

‘‘ Farewell Philip. Good night Mr. Brierly,” Buth’s clear 
voice sounded after them as they went down the walk. 

And she spoke Harry’s name last, thought Philip. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


•*0 see ye not yon narrow road 

So thick beset wi’ thorns and briers? 

That is the Path of Righteousness, 

Though after it but few inquires. 

•* And see ye not yon braid, braid road, 

That lies across the lily leven ? 

That is the Path of Wickedness, 

Though some call it the road to Heaven.” 

Thomas the Rhymett, 

P hilip and Harry reached Xew York in very different 
states of mind. Harry was buoyant. He found a letter 
from Col. Sellers urging him to go to Washington and con¬ 
fer with Senator Dilworthy. The petition was in his hands. 
It had been signed by everybody of any importance in Mis¬ 
souri, and would be presented immediately. 

‘‘ I should go on myself,” wrote the Colonel, “ but I am 
engaged in the invention of a process for lighting such a city 
as St. Louis by means of water; just attach my machine to 
the water-pipes anywhere and the decomposition of the fluid 
begins, and you will have floods of light for the mere cost of 
the machine. IVe nearly got the lighting part, but I want 
to attach to it a heating, cooking, washing and ironing appar¬ 
atus. It’s going to be the great thing, but we’d better keep 
this appropriation going while I am perfecting it.” 

Harry took letters to several congressmen from his uncle 
and from Mr. Duff Brown, each of whom had an extensive 
acquaintance in both houses where they were well known as 
men engaged in large private operations for the public good, 

213 


214 


HARRY IN WASHINGTON. 


and men, besides, who, in the slang of the day, understood 
the virtues of “ addition, division and silence.” 

Senator Dilworthy introduced the petition into the Senate 
with the remai*k that he knew, personally, the signers of it, 
that they were men interested, it was true, in the improve¬ 
ment of the country, but he believed without any selfish 
motive, and that so far as he knew the signers w^ere loyal. 
It pleased him to see upon the roll the names of many col¬ 
ored citizens, and it must rejoice every friend of humanity 
to know that this lately emancipated race were intelligently 
taking part in the development of the resources of their 
native land. He moved the reference of the petition to the 
proper committee. 

Senator Dilworthy introduced his young friend to influen¬ 
tial members, as a person who was very well informed about 
the Salt Lick Extension of the Pacific, and was one of the 
Engineers who had made a careful survey of Columbus Piver; 



plans and to show the connection between the public treas¬ 
ury, the city of Napoleon and legislation for the benefit of 
the whole country. 
































































PHILIP AT WORK. 


215 



Harry was the guest of Senator Dilworthy. There was 
scarcely any good movement in which the Senator was not 
interested. His house was open to all the laborers in the 
field of total abstinence, and much of his time was taken np 
in attending the meetings of this cause. He had a Bible class 
in the Sunday school of the church which he attended, and 
he suggested to Harry that he might take a class during the 
time he remained in Washington; Mr. Washington Plawk- 
ins had a class. Harry asked the Senator if there was a class 
of young ladies for him to teach, and after that tlie Senator 
did not press the subject. 

Philip, if the truth must be told, was not well satisfied 
with his western prospects, nor altogether with the people he 
had fallen in with. The railroad contractors held out large 
but rather indefinite promises. Opportunities for a fortune 
he did not doubt existed in Missouri, but for himself he saw 


no better means for livelihood than the mastery of the profes¬ 
sion he had rather thoughtlessly entered upon. During the 
summer he had made considerable practical advance in the 


PHILIP STUDYING. 





























216 


AN ACCOMPLISHED ENGINEER. 


science of engineering; be had been diligent, and made himself 
to a certain extent necessary to the work he was engaged on. 
The contractors called him into their consultations frequently^ 
as to the character of the country he had been over, and the 
cost of constructing the road, the nature of the work, etc. 

Still Philip felt that if he was going to make either repu¬ 
tation or money as an engineer, he had a great deal of hard 
study before him, and it is to his credit that he did not shrink 
from it. While Harry was in Washington dancing attendance 
upon the national legislature and making the acquaintance of 
the vast lobby that encircled it, Philip devoted himself day 
and night, with an energy and a concentration he was capable 
of, to the learning and theory of his profession, and to the 
science of railroad building. He wrote some papers at this 
time for the “ Plow, the Loom and the Anvil,” upon the 
strength of materials, and especially upon bridge-building, 
which attracted considerable attention, and were copied into 
the English “Practical Magazine.” They served at any rate 
to raise Philip in the opinion of his friends the contractors, 
for practical men have a certain superstitious estimation of 
ability with the pen, and though they may a little despise the 
talent, they are quite ready to make use of it. 

Philip sent copies of his performances to Ruth’s father and 
to other gentlemen whose good opinion he coveted, but he 
did not rest upon his laurels. Indeed, so diligently had he 
applied himself, that when it came time for him to return 
to the West, he felt himself, at least in theory, competent to 
take charge of a division in the field. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

Cante-teca, lapi-Waxte otonwe kin he cajeyatapi nawahon; otonwe wijice 
l^ca keyape se wacanmi. 

Toketu-kai^ta. Han, hecetu; takuwicawaye wijicapi ota hen tipi. 

Mahp. Ekta Oicim, ya. 

T he capital of the Great Republic was a new world to 
country-bred Washington Hawkins. St. Louis was a 
greater city, but its floating population did not hail from 
great distances, and so it had the general family aspect of the 
permanent population ; but Washington gathered its people 
from the four winds of heaven, and so the manners, the faces 
and the fashions there, presented a variety that was inflnite. 
Washington had never been in ‘‘society” in St. Louis, and 
he knew nothing of the ways of its wealthier citizens and 
had never inspected one of their dwellings. Consequently, 
everything in the nature of modern fashion and grandeur 
was a new and wonderful revelation to him. 

Washington is an interesting city to any of us. It seems 
to become more and more interesting the oftener we visit it. 
Perhaps the reader has never been there? Yery well. You 
arrive either at night, rather too late to do anything or see 
anything until morning, or you arrive so early in the morn¬ 
ing that you consider it best to go to your hotel and sleep an 
hour or two while the sun bothers along over the Atlantic. 
You cannot well arrive at a pleasant intermediate hour 
because the railway corporation that keeps the keys of the 
only door that leads into the town or out of it take care of 
that. You arrive in tolerably good spirits, because it is only 

217, 


218 


A VISITOR AT WASHINGTON. 



thirty-eiglit miles from Baltimore to the capital, and so you 
have only been insulted three times (provided you are not in 

a sleeping car—the aver¬ 
age is higher, there) : once 
when you renewed your 
ticket after stopping over 
in Baltimore, once when 
you were about to enter 
the ‘‘ ladies’ car ” without 
knowing it was a lady’s 
car, and once when you 
asked the conductor at 
what hour you would reach 
Washington. 

You are assailed by a 
long rank of hackmen who 
shake their whips in your 
face as you step out upon 
the sidewalk; you enter 
what they regard as a 
KEEP OUT OP HERE, SIR! caiTlage,” In the capital, 

and you wonder why they do not take it out of service and 



AN OLD ONE. 


put it in the museum: we have few enough antiquities, and 
































A CLIMATE YOU’LL LIKE. 


219 


it is little to our credit that we make scarcely any effort to 
preserve the few we have. You reach your hotel, presently 
—and here let us draw tlie curtain of charity—because of 
course you have gone to the wrong one. You being a stran¬ 
ger, how could you do otherwise ? There are a hundred and 
eighteen bad hotels, and only one good one. The most 
renowned and popular hotel of them all is perhaps the worst 
one known to history. 

It is winter, and night. When you arrived, it was snow¬ 
ing. When you reached the hotel, it was sleeting. When 
you went to bed, it was raining. During the night it froze 
hard, and the wind blew some chimneys down. When you 
got up in the morning, it was foggy. When you finished 
your breakfast at ten o’clock and went out, the sunshine was 



A PROMENADE OUTFIT. 


brilliant, the weather balmy and delicious, and the mud and 
slush deep and all-pervading. You will like the climate— 
when you get used to it. 

You naturally wish to view the city; so you take an 
umbrella, an overcoat, and a fan, and go forth The prominent 



















220 WHY THE CAPITOL’S FRONT IS IN THE REAR. 


features you soon locate and get familiar with; first 
you glimpse the ornamental upper works of a long, snowy 
palace projecting above a grove of trees, and a tall, graceful 
white dome with a statue on it surmounting the palace and 
pleasantly contrasting with the back-ground of blue sky. 
That building is the capitol; gossips will tell you that by the 
original estimates it was to cost $12,000,000, and that the 
government did come within $27,200,000 of building it for 
that sum. 

You stand at the back of the capitol to treat yourself to a 
view, and it is a very noble one. You understand, the capitol 
stands upon the verge of a high piece of table land, a fine 
commanding position, and its front looks out over this noble 
situation for a city—but it don’t see it, for the reason that 
when the capitol extension w^as decided upon, the property 
owners at once advanced their prices to such inhuman figures 
that the people went down and built the city in the muddy 
low marsh behind the temple of liberty; so now the lordly 
front of the building, with its imposing colonades, its pro¬ 
jecting, graceful wings, its picturesque groups of statuary, 
and its long terraced ranges of steps, flowing down in white 
marble waves to the ground, merely looks out upon a sorrowful 
little desert of cheap boarding houses. 

So you observe, that you take your view from the back of 
the capitol. And yet not from the airy outlooks of the 
■dome, by the way, because to get there you must pass through 
tlie great rotunda: and to do that, you would have to see the 
marvelous Historical Paintings that hang there, and the bas- 
reliefs—and what have you done that you should suffer thus? 
And besides, you might have to pass through the old part of 
the building, and you could not help seeing Mr. Lincoln, as 
petrified by a young lady artist for $10,000—and you might 
take his marble emancipation proclamation, which he holds 
out in his hand and contemplates, for a folded napkin ; and 
you might' conceive from his expression and his attitude, that 
he is finding fault with the washing. Which is not the case. 
Nobody knows what is the matter with him; but everybody 
feels for him. Well, you ought not to go into the dome any 


WASHINGTON REMEMBERED BY HIS COUNTRYMEN. 221 

how, because it would be utterly impossible to go up there 
without seeing the frescoes in it—and why should you be 
interested in the delirium tremens of art ? 

The capitol is a very noble and a very beautiful building, 
both within and without, but you need not examine it now. 
Still, if you greatly prefer going into the dome, go. E^ow 
your general glance gives you picturesque stretches of gleam¬ 
ing water, on your left, with a sail here and there and a luna¬ 
tic asylum on shore; over beyond the water, on a distant 
elevation, you see a squat yellow temple which your eye 
dwells upon lovingly through a blur of unmanly moisture, 
for it recals your lost boyhood and the Parthenons done in 
molasses candy which made it blest and beautiful. Still in 
the distance, but on this side of the water and close to its 
edge, the Monument to the Father of his Country towers out 
of the mud—sacred soil is the customary term. It has the 



REARED BY A GRATEFUL COUNTRY. 


aspect of a factory chimney with the top broken off. The 
skeleton of a decaying scatfolding lingers about its summit, 
and tradition says that the spirit of Washington often comes 









222 


GOOD CANAL SITES. 


down and sits on those rafters to enjoy this tribute of respect 
which the nation has reared as the symbol of its unappeasable 
gratitude. The Monument is to be finished, some day, and 
at that time our Washington wdll have risen still higher in 
the nation’s veneration, and will be known as the Great- 
Great-Grandfather of his Country. The memorial Chimney 
stands in a quiet pastoral locality that is full of reposeful 
expression. With a glass you can see the cow-sheds about its 
base, and the contented sheep nimbling pebbles in the desert 
solitudes that surround it, and the tired pigs dozing in the 
holy calm of its protecting shadow. 

ITow you wrench your gaze loose and you look down in 
front of you and see the broad Pennsylvania Avenue stretch¬ 
ing straight ahead for a mile or more till it brings up against 
the iron fence in front of a pillared granite pile, the Treasury 
building—an edifice that wmuld command respect in any cap¬ 
ital. The stores and hotels that w’-all in this broad avenue 
are mean, and cheap, and dingy, and are better left without 
comment. Beyond the Treasury is a fine large white barn, 
with wide unhandsome grounds about it. The President 
lives there. It is ugly enough outside, but that is nothing to 
what it is inside. Dreariness, fiimsiness, bad taste reduced to 
mathematical completeness is wdiat the inside offers to the 
eye, if it remains yet what it always has been. 

The front and right hand views give you the city at large. 
It is a wide stretch of cheap little brick houses, with here 
and there a noble architectural pile lifting itself out of the 
midst—government buildings, these. If the thaw is still 
going on when you come down and go about town, you will 
wonder at the short-sightedness of the city fathers, when you 
come to inspect the streets, in that they do not dilute the 
mud a little more and use them for canals. 

If you inquire around a little, you will find that there are 
more boarding houses to the square acre in Washington than 
there are in any other city in the land, perhaps. If you apply 
for a home in one of them, it will seem odd to you to have 
the landlady inspect you with a severe eye and then ask you 


RESULT OF CLAIMING FALSE HONORS. 


223 


if yon are a member of Congress. Perhaps, just as a pleas¬ 
antry, you will say yes. And then she will tell you that she 
is “full.^ Then you show her her advertisement in the 
morning paper, and there she stands, convicted and ashamed. 
She will try to blush, and it will be only polite in you to take 
the effort for the deed. She shows you her rooms, now, and 
lets you take one—but she makes you pay in advance for it. 
That is what you will get for pretending to be a member of 
Congress. If you had been content to be merely a private 
citizen, your tr]ink would have been sufficient security for 
your board. If you are curious and inquire into this thing, 
the chances are that your landlady will be ill-natured enough 
to say that the person and property of a Congressman are 
exempt from arrest or detention, and that with the tears in 
her eyes she has seen several of the people’s representatives 
walk off to their several States and Territories carrying her 
unreceipted board bills in their pockets for keepsakes. And 
before you have been in Washington many weeks you wiU 
be mean enough to believe her, too. 

Of course you contrive to see everything and find out 
everything. And one of the first and most startling things 
you find out is, that every individual 3 'ou encounter in the 
City of Washington almost — and certainly every separate 
and distinct individual in the public employment, front the 
highest bureau chief, clear down to the maid who scrubs De¬ 
partment halls, the night watchmen of the public buildings 
and the darkey boy who purifies the Department spittoons— 
represents Political Influence. Unless you can get the ear of 
a Senator, or a Congressman, or a Chief of a Bureau or De¬ 
partment, and persuade him to use his “influence” in your 
behalf, you cannot get an employment of the most trivial 
nature in Washington. Mere merit, fitness and capability, are 
useless baggage to you without “ influence.” The population 
of Washington consists pretty much entirely of government 
employes and the people who board them. There are 
thousands of these employes, and they have gathered there 
from every corner of the Union and got their berths through 


224 


HOW THEY DO IT. 


the intercession (command is nearer the word) of the Senators 
and Kepresentatives of their respective States. It would be 



BKNEFIT OF POLITICAL INFLUENCE. 


an odd circumstance to see a girl get employment at three oi 
four dollars a week in one of the great public cribs without 
any political grandee to back her, but merely because she was 
worthy, and competent, and a good citizen of a free country 
that “ treats all persons alike.” Washington would be mildly 
thunderstruck at such a thing as that. If you are a member 
of Congress, (no offence,) and one of your constituents who 
doesn’t know anything, and does not want to go into the 
bother of learning something, and has no money, and no em¬ 
ployment, and can’t earn a living, comes besieging you for 
help, do you say, ‘‘ Come, my friend, if your services were 
valuable you could get employment elsewhere—don’t want you 
here?” Oh, no. You take him to a Department and say, 
“ Here, give this person something to pass away the time at 
—and a salary ”—and the thing is done. You throw him on 
his country. He is his country’s child, let his country 




AMONG THE LUMINARIES. 


225 


support him. There is something good and motherly about 
Washington, the grand old benevolent National Asylum for 
the Helpless. 

The wages received by this great hive of employes are 
placed at the liberal figure meet and just for skilled and com¬ 
petent labor. Such of them as are immediately employed 
about the two Houses of Congress, are not only liberally paid 
also, but are remembered in the customary Extra Compensa¬ 
tion bill which slides neatly through, annually, with the gen¬ 
eral grab that signalizes the last night of a session, and thus 
twenty per cent, is added to their wages, for—for fun, no 
doubt. 

Washington Hawkins’ new life was an unceasing delight 
to him. Senator Dilworthy lived sumptuously, and Wash¬ 
ington’s quarters were charming—gas; running water, hot 
and cold; bath-room, coal fires, rich carpets, beautiful pic¬ 
tures on the walls; books on religion, temperance, public 
charities and financial schemes; trim colored servants, daintj 
food—everything a body could wish for. And as for station¬ 
ery, there was no end to it; the government furnished it; 
postage stamps were not needed—the Senator’s frank could 
convey a horse through the mails, if necessary. 

And then he saw such dazzling company. Renowned 
generals and admirals who had seemed but colossal myths 
when he was in the far west, went in and out before him or 
sat at the Senator’s table, solidified into palpable flesh and 
blood; famous statesmen crossed his path daily; that once 
rare and awe-inspiring being, a Congressman, was become a 
common spectacle—a spectacle so common, indeed, that he 
could contemplate it without excitement, even without em¬ 
barrassment ; foreign ministers were visible to the naked eye 
at happy intervals; he had looked upon the President him¬ 
self, and lived. And more, this world of enchantment teemed 
with speculation—the whole atmosphere was thick with it— 
and that indeed was Washington Hawkins’ native air; none 
other refreshed his lungs so gratefully. He had found para¬ 
dise at last. 

The more he saw of his chief the Senator, the more he 
15 - 


226 PROGKESS MADE WITH THE APPROPRIATION BILL. 

honored him, and the more conspicuously the moral gran¬ 
deur of his character appeared to stand out. To possess the 
friendship and the kindly interest of such a man, Washing¬ 
ton said in a letter to Louise, was a happy fortune for a young 
man whose career had been so impeded and so clouded as his. 

The weeks drifted by; Harry Brierly flirted, danced, added 
lustre to the brilliant Senatorial receptions, and diligently 
“buzzed” and “button-holed” Congressmen in the interest 
of the Columbus River scheme; meantime Senator Dilwor- 
thy labored hard in the same interest—and in others of equal 
national importance. Harry wrote frequently to Sellers, and 
always encouragingly; and from these letters it was easy to 
see that Harry was a pet with all Washington, and was likely 
to carry the thing through; that the assistance rendered him 
by “old Dilworthy” was pretty fair—pretty fair; “and 
every little helps, you know,” said Harry. 

Washington wrote Sellers ofiicially, now and then. In one 
of his letters it appeared that whereas no member of the 
House committee favored the scheme at first, there was now 
needed but one more vote to compass a majority report. 
Closing sentence: 

“Providence seems to further our efforts.” 

(Signed,) “Abner Dilworthy, U. S. S., 

per Washington Hawkins, P. S.” 

At the end of a week, Washington was able to send 
the happy news,— officially, as usual,— that the needed 
vote had been added and the bill favorably reported from the 
Committee. Other letters recorded its perils in Committee 
of the whole, and by and by its victory, by just the skin of its 
teeth, on third reading and final passage. Then came letters 
telling of Mr. Dilworthy’s struggles with a stubborn major¬ 
ity in his own Committee in the Senate; of how these gen¬ 
tlemen succumbed, one by one, till a majority was secured. 

Then there was a hiatus. Washington watched every 
move on the board, and he was in a good position to do this, 
for he was clerk of this committee, and also one other. He 
received no salary as private secretary, but these two clerk¬ 
ships, procured by his benefactor, paid him an aggre- 



/ 

































































PASSED. THANKS TO PROVIDENCE. 


227 


gate of twelve dollars a day, without counting the twenty per 
cent, extra compensation which would of course be voted to 
him on the last night of the session. 

He saw the bill go into Committee of the whole and strug¬ 
gle for its life again, and finally worry through. In the full¬ 
ness of time he noted its second reading, and by and by the 
day arrived when the grand ordeal came, and it was put upon 
its final passage. Washington listened with bated breath to 
the ‘‘ Aye! ” “Ho!” “Ho! ” “ Aye!” of the voters, for 

a few dread minutes, and then could bear the suspense no 
longer. He ran down from the gallery and hurried home to 
wait. 

At the end of two or three hours the Senator arrived in the 
bosom of his family, and dinner was waiting. Washington 
sprang forward, with the eager question on his lips, and the 
Senator said: 

“We may rejoice freely, now, my son—Providence has 
crowned our efforts with success.” 












CHAPTER XXY. 




W ASHIXGTOX sent grand good news to Col. Sellers 
that night. To Louise he wrote: 

«It is beautiful to hear him talk when his heart is full ot 
thankfulness for some manifestation of the Divine favor. 
You shall know him, some day my Louise, and knowing him 
you will honor him, as I do.” 

Harry wrote: 

“I pulled it through. Colonel, but it was a tough job, 
there is no question about that. There was not a friend to 
the measure in the House committee when I began, and not 
a friend in the Senate committee except old Dil himself, but 
they were all fixed for a majority report when I hauled off 
my forces. Everybody here says you canH get a thing like 
this through Congress without buying committees for straight- 
out cash on delivery, but I think I’ve taught them a thing or 
two—if I could only make them believe it. When I tell the 
old residenters that this thing went through without buying 
a vote or making a promise, they say, ‘ That’s rather too 
thin.’ And when I say thin or not thin it’s a fact, anyway, 
they say ‘ Come, now, but do you really believe that V and 
when I say I don’t believe anything about it, I know it, they 
smile and say, ‘ Well, you are pretty innocent, or pretty blind, 
one or the other—there’s no getting around that.’ Why 

228 




GLORIOUS NEWS ALL ’ROUND. 


229 


they really do believe that votes have been bought—they do 
indeed. But let them keep on thinking so. I have found 
out that if a man knows how to talk to women, and has a lit¬ 
tle gift in the way of argument with men, he can afford to 
play for an appropriation against a money bag and give the 
money bag odds in the game. We’ve raked in $200,000 of 
Uncle Sam’s money, say what they will—and there is more 
where this came from, when we want it, and I rather fancy I 
am the person that can go in and occupy it, too, if I do say 
it myself, that shouldn’t, perhaps. I’ll be with you within a 
week. Scare up all the men you can, and put them to work 
at once. When I get there 1 propose to make things hum.” 

The great news lifted Sellers into the clouds. He went to 
work on the instant. He flew hither and thither making 
contracts, engaging men, and steeping his soul in the ecstasies 
of business. He was the happiest man in Missouri. And 
Louise was the happiest woman ; for presently came a letter 
from Washington which said: 

“Rejoice with me, for the long agony is over! We have 
waited patiently and faithfully, all these years, and now at 
last the reward is at hand. A man is to pay our family $40,- 
000 for the Tennessee Land! It is but a little sum compared 



VISIONS OP A HAPPY MAN. 

to what we could get by waiting, but I do so long to see the 
day when I can call you my own, that I have said to myself, 
better take this and enjoy life in a humble way than wear out 






230 


THE WHEELS SET IN MOTION. 


our best days in this miserable separation. Besides, I can 
put this money into operations here that will increase it a 
hundred fold, yes, a thousand fold, in a few months. The 
air is full of such chances, and I know our family would con¬ 
sent in a moment that I should put in their shares with mine. 
Without a doubt we shall be worth half a million dollars in a 
year from this time—I put it at the very lowest figure, 
because it is always best to be on the safe side—half a million 
at the very lowest calculation, and then your father will give 
his consent and we can marry at last. Oh, that will be a 
glorious day. Tell our friends the good news—I want all to 
share it.” 

And she did tell her father and mother, but they said, let 
it be kept still for the present. The careful father also told 
her to write Washington and warn him not to speculate with 
the money, but to wait a little and advise with one or two 
wise old heads. She did this. And she managed to keep 
the good news to herself, though it would seem that the most 
careless observer might have seen by her springing step and 
her radiant countenance that some fine piece of good fortune 
had descended upon her. 

Harry joined the Colonel at Stone’s Landing, and that 
dead place sprang into sudden life. A swarm of men were 
hard at work, and the dull air was filled with the cheery 
music of labor. Harry had been constituted engineer-in-gen¬ 
eral, and he threw the full strength of his powers into his 
work. He moved among his hirelings like a king. Author¬ 
ity seemed to invest him with a new splendor. Col. Sellers, 
as general superintendent of a great public enterprise, was all 
that a mere human being could be—and more. These two 
grandees went at their imposing “ improvement ” with the 
air of men who had been charged with the work of altering 
the foundations of the globe. 

They turned their first attention to straightening the river 
just above the Landing, where it made a deep bend, and 
where the maps and plans showed that the process of straight¬ 
ening would not only shorten distance but increase the “falL” 
They started a cut-off canal across the peninsula formed by 


NAPOLEON STOCK UP, EVERYTHING “BOOMING.” 231 


the bend, and such another tearing up of the earth and slop¬ 
ping around in the mud as followed the order to the men, 
had never been seen in that region before. There was such 
a panic among the turtles that at the end of six hours there 
was not one to be found within three miles of Stone’s Land¬ 
ing. They took the young and the aged, the decrepit and 
the sick upon their backs and left for tide-water in disorderly 



EXODUS OF THE NATIVES. 


procession, the tadpoles following and the bull-frogs bringing 
up the rear. 

Saturday night came, but the men were obliged to wait, 
because the appropriation had not come. Harry said he had 
written to hurry up the money and it would be along pres¬ 
ently. So the work continued, on Monday. Stone’s Land¬ 
ing was making quite a stir in the vicinity, by this time. 
Sellers threw a lot or two on the market, “ as a feeler,” and 
they sold well. He re-clothed his family, laid in a good 
stock of provisions, and still had money left. He started a 
bank account, in a small way—and mentioned the deposit 
casually to friends; and to strangers, too ; to everybody, in 
fact; but not as a new thing—on the contrary, as a matter of 
life-long standing. He could not keep from buying trifles 
every day that were not wholly necessary, it was such a 
gaudy thing to get out his bank-book and draw a check, 




232 


TROUBLE IN THE MONEY MARKET. 


instead of using liis old customary formula, Charge it.” 
Harry sold a lot or two, also—and had a dinner party or two 
at Hawkeye and a general good time with the money. Both 
men held on pretty strenuously for the coming big prices, 
however. 

At the end of a month things were looking bad. Harry 
had besieged the New York headquarters of the Columbus 
River Slack-water Navigation Company with demands, then 
commands, and finally appeals, but to no purpose; the appro¬ 
priation did not come; the letters were not even answered. 
The workmen were clamorous, now. The Colonel and Harry 
retired to consult. 

‘‘ What’s to be done ? ” said the Coloneh 

“Hang’d if I know.” 

“ Company say anything ? ” 

“Not a word.” 

“You telegraphed yesterday?” 

“Yes, and the day before, too.” 

“ No answer? ” 

“None—confound them! ” 

Then there w^as a long pause. Finally both spoke at once: 

“I’ve got it! ” 

“/’ve got it! ” 

“ What’s yours ? ” said Harry. 

“ Give the boys thirty-day orders on the Company for the 
hack pay.” 

“ That’s it—that’s my own idea to a dot. But then—but 
then-” 

“ Yes, I know,” said the Colonel; “ I know they can’t wait 
for the orders to go to New York and be cashed, but what’s 
the reason they can’t get them discounted in Hawkeye ? ” 

“ Of course they can. That solves the difficulty. Every¬ 
body knows the appropriation’s been made and the Compa¬ 
ny’s perfectly good.” 

So the orders were given and the men appeased, though 
they grumbled a little at first. The orders went well enough 


















































































































































FINANCIERING AND ITS RESULT. 


233 


for groceries and such things at a fair discount, and the work 
danced along gaily for a time. Two or three purchasers put 
up frame houses at the Landing and moved in, and of course 
a far-sighted but easy-going journeyman printer wandered 
along and started the “Napoleon Weekly Telegraph and 
Literary Kepositoiy”—a paper with a Latin motto from 
the Unabridged dictionary, and plenty of “fat” conversa¬ 
tional tales and double-leaded poetry—all for two dollars a 
year, strictly in advance. Of course the merchants forwarded 
the orders at once to New York—and never heard of them 
again. 

At the end of some weeks Harry’s orders were a drug in 
the market—nobody would take them at any discount what¬ 
ever. The second month closed with a riot.—Sellers was 
absent at the time, and Harry began an active absence him^ 
self with the mob at his heels. But being on horseback, he 
had the advantage. He did not tarry in Hawkeye, but went 
on, thus missing several appointments with creditors. He was 
far on his flight eastward, and well out of danger when the 
next morning dawned. He telegraphed the Colonel to go 
down and quiet the laborers —he was bound east for money 
—everything would be right in a week—tell the men so—tell 
them to rely on him and not be afraid. 

Sellers found the mob quiet enough when he reached the 
Landing. They had gutted the Navigation office, then piled 
the beautiful engraved stock-books and things in the middle 
of the floor and enjoyed the bonfire while it lasted. They 
had a liking for the Colonel, but still they had some idea of 
hanging him, as a sort of make-shift that might answer, after 
a fashion, in place of more satisfactory game. 

Bnt they made the mistake of waiting to hear what he had 
to say first. Within fifteen minutes his tongue had done its 
work and they were all rich men.—He gave every one of 
them a lot in the suburbs of the city of Stone’s Landing, 
within a mile and a half of the future post office and railway 
station, and they promised to resume work as soon as Harry 
got east and started the money along. Now things were 


234 : 


GENERAL COLLAPSE. 


blooming and pleasant again, but the men bad no money, and 
nothing to live on. The Colonel divided with them the 
money he still had in bank—an act which had nothing 



ENJOYING THE BONFIRE. 


surprising about it because he was generally ready to divide 
whatever he had with anybody that wanted it, and it was 
owing to this very trait that his family spent their days in 
poverty and at times were pinched with famine. 

When the men’s minds had cooled and Sellers was- gone, 
they hated themselves for letting him beguile them with fine 
speeches, but it was too late, now—they agreed to hang him 
another time—such time as Providence should appoint. 














CHAPTER XXYI. 


UeSSTLD €TIL^^ 


R umors of Ruth’s frivolity and worldliness at Fallkill 
traveled to Philadelphia in due time, and occasioned no 
little undertalk among the Bolton relatives. 

Hannah Shoecraft told another cousin that, for her part, 
she never believed that Ruth had so much more “mind’' 
than other people ; and Cousin Hulda added that she always 
thought Ruth was fond of admiration, and that was the reason 
she was unwilling to wear plain clothes and attend Meeting. 
The story that Ruth was “ engaged ” to a young gentleman 
of fortune in Fallkill came with the other news, and helped 
to give point to the little satirical remarks that went round 
about Ruth’s desire to be a doctor! 

Margaret Bolton was too wise to be either surprised or 
alarmed by these rumors. They might be true; she knew a 
woman’s nature too well to think them improbable, but she 
also knew how steadfast Ruth was in her purposes, and that, 
as a brook breaks into ripples and eddies and dances and 
sports by the way, and yet keeps on to the sea, it was in 
Ruth’s nature to give back cheerful answer to the solicita¬ 
tions of friendliness and pleasure, to appear idly delaying 
even, and sporting in the sunshine, while the current of her 
resolution flowed steadily on. 

That Ruth had this delight in the mere surface play of life 
235 


236 


RUTH AT HOME AGAIN. 


—^that she could, for instance, be interested in that somewhat 
serious by-play called “flirtation,” or take any delight in the 
exercise of those little arts of pleasing and winning which 
are none the less genuine and charming because they are not 
intellectual, Euth, herself, had never suspected until she went 
to Fallkill. She had believed it her duty to subdue her 
gaiety of temperament, and let nothing divert her from what 
are called serious pursuits. In her limited experience she 
brought everything to the judgment of her own conscience, 
and settled the aflairs of all the world in her own serene 
judgment hall. Perhaps her mother saw this, and saw also 
that there was nothing in the Friends’ society to prevent her 
from growing more and more opinionated. 

When Euth returned to Philadelphia, it must be confessed 
—though it would not have been by her—that a medical 
career did seem a little less necessary for her than formerly; 
and coming back in a glow of triumph, as it were, and in the 
consciousness of the freedom and life in a lively society and 
in new and sympathetic friendship, she anticipated pleasure 
in an attempt to break up the stiffness and levelness of the 
society at home, and infusing into it something of the motion 
and sparkle which were so agreeable at Fallkill. She expect¬ 
ed visits from her new friends, she would have company, the 
new books and the periodicals about which all the world was 
talking, and, in short, she would have life. 

For a little while she lived in this atmosphere which she had 
brought with her. Her mother was delighted with this 
change in her, with the improvement in her health and the 
interest she exhibited in home affairs. Her father enjoyed 
the society of his favorite daughter as he did few things be¬ 
sides ; he liked her mirthful and teasing ways, and not less a 
keen battle over something she had read. He had been a 
great reader all his life, and a remarkable memory had stored 
his mind with encyclopaedic information. It was one of Euth’s 
delights to cram herself with some out of the way subject 
and endeavor to catch her father; but she almost always 
failed. Mr. Bolton liked company, a house full of it, and 


LEADING QUESTIONS BY RUTH’S MOTHER. 


237 


the mirth of young people, and he would have willingly 
entered into any revolutionary plans Ruth might have sug¬ 
gested in relation to Friends’ society. 

But custom and the fixed order are stronger than the most 
enthusiastic and rebellious young lady, as Ruth very soon 
found. In spite of all her brave efforts, her frequent corres¬ 
pondence, and her determined animation, her books and her 
music, she found herself settling into the clutches of the old 
monotony, and as she realized the hopelessness of her endeav¬ 
ors, the medical scheme took new hold of her, and seemed 
to her the only method of escape. 

“ Mother, thee does not know how different it is in Fallkill, 
how much more interesting the people are one meets, how 
much more life there is.” 

“ But thee will find the world, child, pretty much all the 
same, when thee knows it better. I thought once as thee 
does now, and had as little thought of being a Friend as thee 
has. Perhaps when thee has seen more, thee will better ap¬ 
preciate a quiet life.” 

“ Thee married young. I shall not marry young, and per¬ 
haps not at all,” said Ruth, with a look of vast experience. 

“ Perhaps thee doesn’t know thee own mind ; I have known 
persons of thy age who did not. Did thee see anybody whom 
thee would like to live with always in Fallkill? ” 

“ Hot always,” replied Ruth with a little laugh. ‘‘ Mother, 
I think I wouldn’t say ‘ always ’ to any one until I have a 
profession and am as independent as he is. Then my love 
would be a free act, and not in any way a necessity.” 

Margaret Bolton smiled at this new-fangled philosophy. 
‘‘ Thee will find that love, Ruth, is a thing thee won’t reason 
about, when it comes, nor make any bargains about. Thee 
wrote that Philip Sterling was at Fallkill.” 

“ Yes, and Henry Brierly, a friend of his; a very amusing 
young fellow and not so serious-minded as Philip, but a bit 
of a fop maybe.” 

“ And thee preferred the fop to the serious-minded ? ” 


238 


ANOTHER SPECULATION. 


‘‘I didn’t prefer anybody, but Henry Brierly was good 
company, which Philip wasn’t always.” 

“ Did thee know thee father had been in correspondence 
with Philip?” 

Euth looked up surprised and with a plain question in her 
eyes. 

“ Oh, it’s not about thee.” 

‘‘ What then ? ” and if there was any shade of disappoint¬ 
ment in her tone, probably Euth herself did not know it. 

‘‘ It’s about some land up in the country. That man Bigler 
has got father into another speculation.” 

“ That odious man ! Why will father have any thing to do 
with him ? Is it that railroad ? ” 

“Yes. Father advanced money and took land as security, 
and whatever has gone with the money and the bonds, he 
has on his hands a large tract of wild land.” 

“ And what has Philip to do with that ? ” 

“ It has good timber, if it could ever be got out, and father 
says that there must be coal in it; it’s in a coal region. He 
wants Philip to survey it, and examine it for indications of 
coal.” 

“ It’s another of father’s fortunes, I suppose,” said Euth. 

He has put away so many fortunes for us that I’m afraid 
we never shall find them.” 

Euth was interested in it nevertheless, and perhaps mainly 
because Philip was to be connected with the enterprise. Mr. 
Bigler came to dinner with her father next day, and talked a 
great deal about Mr. Bolton’s magnificent tract of land, 
extolled the sagacity that led him to secure such a property, 
and led the talk along to another railroad which would open 
a northern communication to this very land. 

“Pennybacker says it’s full of coal, he’s no doubt of it, 
and a railroad to strike the Erie would make it a fortune.” 

“ Suppose you take the land and work the thing up, Mr, 
Bigler; you may have the tract for three dollars an acre.” 

“You’d throw it away, then,” replied Mr. Bigler, “and 
I’m not the man to take advantage of a friend. But if 


A LETTER FROM PHILIP. 


239 


you’ll put a mortgage on it for the northern road, I wouldn’t 
mind taking an interest, if Pennj^backer is willing; but Pen- 
nybacker, you know, don’t go much on land, he sticks to the 
legislature.” And Mr. Bigler laughed. 

When Mr. Bigler had gone, Euth asked her father about 
Philip’s connection with the land scheme. 

“ There’s nothing definite,” said Mr. Bolton. “ Philip is 
showing aptitude for his profession. I hear the best reports 
of him in New York, though those sharpers don’t intend to 
do anything but use him. I’ve written and offered him 
employment in surveying and examining the land. We 
want to know wEat it is. And if there is anything in it that 
his enterprise can dig out, he shall have an interest. I 
should be glad to give the young fellow a lift.” 

All his life Eli Bolton had been giving young fellows a 
lift, and shouldering the losses when things turned out unfor¬ 
tunately. His ledger, take it altogether, would not show a 
balance on the right side; but perhaps the losses on his books 
will turn out to be credits in a world where accounts are kept 
on a different basis. The left hand of the ledger will appear 
the right, looked at from the other side. 

Philip wrote to Euth rather a comical account of the 
bursting up of the city of Napoleon and the navigation 
improvement scheme, of Harry’s flight and the Colonel’s dis¬ 
comfiture. Harry left in such a hurry that he hadn’t even 
time to bid Miss Laura Hawkins good-bye, but he had no doubt 
that Harry would console himself with the next pretty face he 
saw—a remark which was thrown in for Euth’s benefit. Col. 
Sellers had in all probability, by this time, some other equally 
brilliant speculation in his brain. 

As to the railroad, Philip had made up his mind that it was 
merely kept on foot for speculative purposes in Wall street, 
and he was about to quit it. Would Euth be glad to hear, 
he wondered, that he was coming East ? For he was coming, 
in spite of a letter from Harry in New York, advising him to 
hold on until he had made some arrangements in regard to 


240 


QUEER PEOPLE. 


contracts, he to be a little careful about Sellers, who wag 
somewhat visionary, Harry said. 

The summer went on without much excitement for Ruth. 
She kept up a correspondence with Alice, who promised a 
visit in the fall, she read, she earnestly tried to interest her¬ 
self in home atfairs and such people as came to the house; 
but she found herself falling more and more into reveries, and 
growing weary of things as they were. She felt that every¬ 
body might become in time like two relatives from a Shaker 
establishment in Ohio, who visited the Boltons about this 
time, a father and son, clad exactly alike, and alike in man- 



“ BROTHER PLlTM.” 


ners. The son, however, who was not of age, was more 
unworldly and sanctimonious than his father; he always 
addressed his parent as “ Brother Plum,” and bore himself 






ruth at home. 




































































































































































































































A PICTURE. 


241 


altogether in such a superior manner that Kuth longed to put 
bent pins in his chair. Both father and son wore the long, sin¬ 
gle breasted collarless coats of their society, without buttons, 
before or behind, but with a row of hooks and eyes on either 
side in front. It was Kuth’s suggestion that the coats would 
be improved by a single hook and eye sewed on in the small 
of the back where the buttons usually are. 

Amusing as this Shaker caricature of the Friends was, it 
oppressed Kuth beyond measure, and increased her feeling of 
being stifled. 

It was a most unreasonable feeling. No home could be 
pleasanter than Ruth’s. The house, a little out of the city, 
was one of those elegant country residences which so much 
charm visitors to the suburbs of Philadelphia. A modern dwel¬ 
ling and luxurious in everything that wealth could suggest for 
comfort, it stood in the midst of exquisitely kept lawns, with 
groups of trees, parterres of flowers massed in colors, with 
greenhouse, grapery and garden ; and on one side, the garden 
sloped away in undulations to a shallow brook that ran over 
a pebbly bottom and sang under forest trees. The country 
about was the perfection of cultivated landscape, dotted with 
cottages, and stately mansions of Revolutionary date, and 
sweet as an English country-side, whether seen in the soft 
bloom of May or in the mellow ripeness of late October. 

It needed only the peace of the mind within, to make it a 
paradise. One riding by on the Old Germantown road, and 
seeing a young girl swinging in the hammock on the piazza and 
intent upon some volume of old poetry or the latest novel, 
would no doubt have envied a life so idyllic. He could not 
have imagined that the young girl was reading a volume of 
reports of clinics and longing to be elsewhere. 

Ruth could not have been more discontented if all the 
wealth about her had been as unsubstantial as a dream. Per¬ 
haps she so thought it. 

I feel,” she once said to her father, “ as if I were living 
in a house of cards.” 

“And thee would like to turn it into a hospital?” 

16 - 


242 


DANGERS AND CONTINGENCES. 


‘‘ No. But tell me father,” continued Buth, not to be put 
off, ‘‘ is thee still going on with that Bigler and those other 
men who come here and entice thee ? ” 

Mr. Bolton smiled, as men do when they talk with women 
about “ business. ” ‘‘ Such men have their uses, Biith. They 

keep the world active, and I owe a great many of my best 
operations to such men. Who knows, Buth, but this new land 
purchase, which I confess I yielded a little too much to Big¬ 
ler in, may not turn out a fortune for thee and the rest of the 
children ? ” 

Ah, father, thee sees every thing in a rose-colored light. 
I do believe thee wouldn’t have so readily allowed me to 
begin the study of medicine, if it hadn’t had the novelty of 
an experiment to thee.” 

And is thee satisfied with it ? ” 

“ If thee means, if I have had enough of it, no. I just 
begin to see what 1 can do in it, and what a noble profession 
it is for a woman. Would thee have me sit here like a bird 
on a bough and wait for somebody to come and put me in a 
cage ? ” 

Mr. Bolton was not sorry to divert the talk from his own 
afiairs, and he did not think it worth while to tell his family 
of a performance that very day which was entirely character¬ 
istic of him. 

Buth might well say that she felt as if she were living in 
a house of cards, although the Bolton household had no idea 
of the number of perils that hovered over them, any more 
than thousands of families in America have of the business 
risks and contingences upon which their prosperity and lux¬ 
ury hang. 

A sudden call upon Mr. Bolton for a large sum of money, 
which must be forthcoming at once, had found him in the 
midst of a dozen ventures, from no one of which a dollar 
could be realized. It was in vain that he applied to his busi¬ 
ness acquaintances and friends; it was a period of sudden 
panic and no money. “ A hundred thousand! Mr. Bolton,” 


THE BOCK ON WHICH WE BUILD. 


243 


said Pliimly. “ Good God, if you should ask me for ten, I 
shouldn’t know where to get it.” 

And yet that day Mr. Small (Pennyhacker, Bigler and 
Small) came to Mr. Bolton with a piteous story of ruin in a 
coal operation, if he could not raise ten thousand dollars. 
Only ten, and he was sure of a fortune. Without it he was 
a beggar. Mr. Bolton had already Small’s notes for a large 
amount in his safe, labeled “ doubtful; ” he had helped him 
again and again, and always with the same result. But Mr. 
Small spoke with a faltering voice of his family, his daughter 
in school, his wife ignorant of his calamity, and drew such a 
picture of their agony, that Mr. Bolton put by his own more 
pressing necessity, and devoted the day to scraping together, 
here and there, ten thousand dollars for this brazen beggar, 
who had never kept a promise to him nor paid a debt. 

Beautiful credit! The foundation of modern society. 
Who shall say that this is not the golden age of mutual trust, 
of unlimited reliance upon hiLEc;n promises? That is a 
peculiar condition of society which (Enables a whole nation to 
instantly recognize point and meaning in the familiar news¬ 
paper anecdote, which puts into the mouth of a distinguished 
speculator in lands and mines this remark :—“I wasn’t worth 
a cent two years ago, and now I owe two millions of dollars.’^ 


CHAPTER XXYII, 


0 \\ 






&( 9VV rh itpa’x^ivT^ iP'Xsncvt rvfXds yeycSf, 

0V phv vir£TTTri(* ovSiv, dXX’ evKapSiois 
ffhrov Tiv aWriv ^Xar’ eis dKav^ivriv, 

K&K Tovf' iyivtT i^av^is Ik rvcpXov P\tira)v. 

I T was a hard blow to poor Sellers to see the work on his 
darling enterprise stop, and the noise and bustle and con¬ 
fusion that had been such refreshment to his soul, sicken and 
die out. It was hard to come down to humdrum ordinary life 
again after being a General Superintendent and the most 
conspicuous man in the community. It was sad to see his 
name disappear from the newspapers; sadder still to see it 
resurrected at intervals, shorn of its aforetime gaudy gear of 
compliments and clothed on with rhetorical tar and feathers. 

But his friends suffered more on his account than he did. 
He was a cork that could not be kept under the water many 
moments at a time. 

He had to bolster up his wife’s spirits every now and then. 
On one of these occasions he said: 

“ It’s all right, my dear, all right; it will all come right in 
a little while. There’s $200,000 coming, and that will set 
things booming again. Harry seems to be having some dif¬ 
ficulty, but that’s to be expected—^you can’t move these big 


COL. SELLERS COMFORTS HIS WIFE. 


246 


operations to the tune of Fisher’s Hornpipe, you know. But 
Harry will get it started along presently, and then you’ll see I 
I expect the news every day now.” 

‘‘ But Beriah, you’ve heen expecting it every day, all along, 
haven’t you 

“Well,yes; yes—I don’t know but I have. But anyway, 
the longer it’s delayed, the nearer it grows to the time when 
it will start—same as every day you live brings you nearer 
to—nearer—” 

“ The grave ?” 

“Well, no—not that exactly; but you can’t understand 
these things, Polly dear—women haven’t much head for bus¬ 
iness, you know. You make yourself perfectly comfortable, 
old lady, and you’ll see how we’ll trot this right along. Why 
bless you, let the appropriation lag, if it wants to—that’s no 
great matter—there’s a bigger thing than that.” 

“ Bigger than $200,000, Beriah ? ” 

“ Bigger, child ?—why, what’s $200,000 ? Pocket money! 
Mere pocket money! Look at the railroad! Did you forget 
the railroad ? It ain’t many months till spring; it will be 
coming right along, and the railroad swimming right along 
behind it. Where’ll it be by the middle of summer ? Just 
stop and fancy a moment—^just think a little—don’t anything 
suggest itself ? Bless your heart, you dear women live right in 
the present all the time—but a man, why a man lives- 

“In the future, Beriah? But don’t we live in the future 
most too much, Beriah ? We do somehow seem to manage to 
live on next year’s crop of corn and potatoes as a general 
thing while this year is still dragging along, but sometimes 
it’s not a robust diet,—Beriah. But don’t look that way, 
dear—don’t mind what I say. I don’t mean to fret, I don’t 
mean to worry; and I dorCt^ once a month, do I, dear ? But 
when I get a little low and feel bad, I get a bit troubled and 
worrisome, but it don’t mean anything in the world. It 
passes right away. I know you’re doing all you can, and I 
don’t want to seem repining and ungrateful—for I’m not, 
Beriah—you know I’m not, don’t you?” 

“ Lord bless you, child, I know you are the very best little 



246 


TELLING ABOUT THE RAILROAD. 


woman that ev^er lived—that ever lived on the whole face of 
the Earth! And I know that I would be a dog not to work 
for you and think for you and scheme for you with all my 
might. And I’ll bring things all right yet, honey—cheer up 
and don’t you fear. The railroad-” 

“ Oh, I had forgotten the railroad, dear, but when a body 
gets blue, a body forgets everything. Yes, the railroad—tell 
me about the railroad.” 

“ Aha, ray girl, don’t you see ? Things ain’t so dark, are 
they? How/didn’t forget the railroad. How just think 
for a moment—just figure up a little on the future dead 
moral certainties. For instance, call this waiter St. Louis. 

“ And we’ll lay this fork (representing the railroad) from St. 
Louis to this potato, which is Slouchburg: 

Then with this carving knife we’ll continue the railroad 
from Slouchburg to Doodleville, shown by the black pepper: 

“ Then we run along the—yes—the comb—to the tumbler 
—that’s Brimstone: 

“ Thence by the pipe to Belshazzar, which is the salt-cellar: 

“ Thence to, to—that quill—Catfish—hand me the pin¬ 
cushion, Marie Antoinette: 

Thence right along these shears to this horse, Babylon: 

“ Then by the spoon to Bloody Bun—thank you, the ink: 

Thence to Hail Columbia—snuffers, Polly, please—move 
that cup and saucer close up, that’s Hail Columbia: 

“Then—let me open my knife—to Hark-from-the-Tomb, 
where we’ll put the candle-stick—only a little distance from Hail 
Columbia to Hark-from-the-Tomb—down-grade all the way. 

“ And there we strike Columbus Biver—pass me two or 
three skeins of thread to stand for the river; the sugar bowl 
will do for Hawkeye, and the rat trap for Stone’s Landing— 
Hapoleon, I mean—and you can see how much better Hapo- 
leon is located than Hawkeye. How here you are with your 
railroad complete, and showing its continuation to Hallelujah, 
and thence to Corrnptionville. 

“How then—there you are! It’s a beautiful road, beau¬ 
tiful. Jeff Thompson can out-engineer any civil engineer 
that ever sighted through an aneroid, or a theodolite, or 


A RIPPING ROAD, AND WHAT A COUNTRY, 


24T 


whatever they call it— he calls it sometimes one and some¬ 
times the other—just whichever levels off his sentence neatest, 
I reckon. But ain’t it a ripping road, though ? I tell you, 
it’ll make a stir when it gets along. Just see what a country 
it goes through. There’s your onions at Slouchburg —noblest 
onion country that graces God’s footstool; and there’s your 
turnip country all around Doodleville—bless my life, what 
fortunes are going to be made there when they get that con¬ 
trivance perfected for extracting olive oil out of turnips—if 
there’s any in them ; and I reckon there is, because Congress 
has made an appropriation of money to test the thing, and 
they wouldn’t have done that just on conjecture, of course. 
And now we come to the Brimstone region — cattle raised 
there till you can’t rest—and corn, and all that sort of thing. 
Then you’ve got a little stretch along through Belshazzar 
that don’t produce anything now—at least nothing but rocks 
*—but irrigation will fetch it. Then from Catfish to Babylon 
it’s a little swampy, but there’s dead loads of peat down 
under there somewhere. Next is the Bloody Bun and Hail 
Columbia country—tobacco enough can be raised there to 
support two such railroads. Next is the sassparilla region. I 
reckon there’s enough of that truck along in there on the line 
of the pocket-knife, from Hail Columbia to Hark-from-the- 
Tomb to fat up all the consumptives in all the hospitals from 
Halifax to the Holy Land. It just grows like weeds! I’ve 
got a little belt of sassparilla land in there just tucked away 
unobstrusively waiting for my little Universal Expectorant 
to get into shape in my head. And I’ll fix that, you know. 
One of these days I’ll have all the nations of the earth ex- 
pecto— ” 

“ But Beriah, dear— ” 

Don’t interrupt me, Polly—I don’t want you to lose the 
run of the map—well, tahe your toy-horse, James Fitz-James, 
if you must have it—and run along with you. Here, now 
—the soap will do for Babylon. Let me see—where was I ? 
Oh yes—now we run down to Stone’s Lan—Napoleon—now 
we run down to Napoleon. Beautiful road. Look at that, 


248 


rORTY-NINE BRIDGES, BESIDES CULVERTS. 


now. Perfectly straight line—straight as the way to the 
grave. And see where it leaves Hawkeye—clear out in the 
cold, my dear, clear out in the cold. That town’s as bound 
to die as—well if I owned it I’d get its obituary ready, now, 
and notify the mourners. Polly, mark my words—in three 
years from this, Hawkeye’ll be a howling wilderness. You’ll 
see. And just look at that river—noblest stream that mean¬ 
ders over the thirsty earth !—calmest, gentlest artery that 
refreshes her weary bosom ! Pailroad goes all over it and 
all through it — wades right along on stilts. Seventeen 



RESULT OP A STRAIGHT LINE. 


bridges in three miles and a half—forty-nine bridges from 
Hark-from-the-Tomb to Stone’s Landing altogether — forty- 
nine bridges, and culverts enough to culvert creation itself! 
Hadn’t skeins of thread enough to represent them all — but 
you get an idea—perfect trestle-work of bridges for seventy- 
two miles. Jetf Thompson and I fixed all that, you know; 
he’s to get the contracts and I’m to put them through on the 
divide. Just oceans of money in those bridges. It’s the 
only part of the railroad I’m interested in,—down along the 
line—and it’s all I want, too. It’s enough, I should judge. 
Now here we are at Napoleon. Good enough country— 
plenty good enough—all it wants is population. That’s all 
right—that will come. And it’s no bad country now for 
calmness and solitude, I can tell you — though there’s no 












A GOOD TIME COMING—BY RAIL. 


249 


money in that, of course. No money, but a man wants rest, 
a man wants peace—a man don’t want to rip and tear around 
all the time. And here we go, now, just as straight as a 
string for Hallelujah—it’s a beautiful angle—handsome up¬ 
grade all the way—and then away you go to Corruptionville, 
the gaudiest country for early carrots and cauliflowers that 
ever—good missionary field, too. There ain’t such another 
missionary field outside the jungles of Central Africa. And 
patriotic ?—why they named it after Congress itself. Oh, I 
warn you, my dear, there’s a good time coming, and it’ll be 
right along before you know what you’re about, too. That 
railroad’s fetching it. You see what it is as far as I’ve got, 
and if I had enough bottles and soap and boot-jacks and such 
things to carry it along to where it joins onto the Union 
Pacific, fourteen hundred miles from here, I should exhibit 
to you in that little internal improvement a spectacle of incon¬ 
ceivable sublimity. So, don’t you see ? We’ve got the rail¬ 
road to fall back on; and in the meantime, what are we 
worrying about that $200,000 appropriation for ? That’s all 
right. I’d be willing to bet anything that the very next 
letter that comes from Harry will—” 

The eldest boy entered just in the nick of time and brought 
a letter, warm from the post-office. 

‘‘ Things do look bright, after all, Beriah. I’m sorry I 
was blue, but it did seem as if everything had been going 
against us for whole ages. Open the letter—open it quick, 
and let’s know all about it before we stir out of our places. 
I am all in a fidget to know what it says.” 

The letter was opened, without any unnecessary delay. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


Hvo der vil kjobe Poise af Hunden maa give ham Flesk igjen. 

—Mit seinem eignen Verstande wurde Thrasyllus schwerlich durchgekommen 
seyn. Aber in solchen Fallen findcn seinesgleichen fiir ihr.Geld immer einen 
Spitzbuben, der ihnen seinen Kopf leiht; und dauu ist es so viel als ob sie selbst 
einen hatten. Wieland. Di6 Ahdenten. 

W IIATEYEE. may have been the language of Harry’u 
letter to the Colonel, the information it conveyed wafj 
condensed or expanded, one or the other, from the following 
episode of his visit to New York: 

He called, with official importance in his mien, at No.-, 

Wall street, where a great gilt sign betokened the presence 
of the head-quarters of the Columbus lliver Slack-Water 
Navigation Company.” lie entered and gave a dressy porter 
his card, and was requested to wait a moment in a sort of 
ante-room. The porter returned in a minute* and asked whom 
he would like to see? 

“ The president of the company, of course.” 

“ He is busy with some gentlemen, sir; says he will be done 
with them directly.” 

That a copper-plate card with “ Engineer-in-Cliief ” on it 
should be received with such tranquility as this, annoyed Mr. 
Brierly not a little. But he had to submit. Indeed his 
annoyance had time to augment a good deal; for he was 
allowed to cool his heels a full half hour in the ante-room 
before those gentlemen emerged and he was ushered into the 
presence. He found a stately dignitary occupying a very 
official chair behind a long green morocco-covered table, in a 

250 



A WALL STREET OFFICE. 


251 



room sumptuously carpeted and furnished, and well garnished 
with pictures. 

“ Good morning, sir; take a seat—take a seat.” 

“Thank you sir,” said Harry, throwing as much chill into 
his manner as his ruffled dignity prompted. 

“We perceive by your reports and the reports of the Chief 
Superintendent, that you have been making gratifying pro- 


AT HEADQUARTERS. 

gress with the work.—We are all very much pleased.” 

“Indeed? We did not discover it from your letters— 
which we have not received; nor by the treatment our drafts 
have met with—which were not honored; nor by the recep¬ 
tion of any part of the appropriation, no part of it having 
come to hand.” 

“Why, my dear Mr. Brierly, there must be some mistake. 
I am sure we wrote you and also Mr. Sellers, recently when 
my clerk comes he will show copies—^letters informing you 
of the ten per cent, assessment.” 

“ Oh, certainly, we got those letters. But what we wanted 
was money to carry on the work—money to pay the men. 



























252 


STOCK HOLDING AND ASSESSMENTS. 


“ Certainly, certainly—true enough—but we credited you 
both for a large part of your assessments—I am sure that was 
in our letters.” 

“ Of course that was in—I remember that.” 

“Ah, very well then. Now we begin to understand each 
other.” 

“Well, I don’t see that we do. There’s two months’ wages 
due the men, and-” 

“ How ? Haven’t you paid the men ? ” 

“ Paid them! How are we going to pay them when you 
don’t honor our drafts ? ” 

“ Why, my dear sir, I cannot see how you can find any 
fault with us. I am sure we have acted in a perfectly straight 
forward business way. Now let us look at the thing a moment. 
You subscribed for 100 shares of the capital stock, at $1,000 
a share, I believe ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, I did.” 

“ And Mr. Sellers took a like amount % ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“Very well. No concern can get along without money. 
We levied a ten per cent, assessment. It was the original 
understanding that you and Mr. Sellers were to have the posi¬ 
tions you now hold, with salaries of $600 a month each, while 
in active service. You were duly elected to these places, and 
you accepted them. Am I right ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“Very well. You were given your instructions and put 
to work. By your reports it appears that you have expended 
the sum of $9,640 upon the said work. Two months 
salary to you two officers amounts altogether to $2,400— 
about one-eighth of your ten per cent, assessment, you see; 
which leaves you in debt to the company for the other seven- 
eighths of the assessment—viz, something over $8,000 apiece. 
Now instead of requiring you to forward this aggregate of 
$16,000 or $17,000 to New York, the company voted unani¬ 
mously to let you pay it over to the contractors, laborers from 
time to time, and give you credit on the books for it. And 
they did it without a murmur, too, for they were pleased with 



FIGURES WON’T LIE. 


253 


the progress you had made, and were glad to pay you that 
little compliment—and a very neat one it was, too, I am sure. 
The work you did fell short of $10,000, a trifle. Let me see 
—$9,640 from $20,000—salary $2,400 added—ah yes, the 
balance due the company from yourself and Mr. Sellers is 
$7,960, which I will take the responsibility of allowing to 
stand for the present, unless you prefer to draw a check now, 
and thus-” 

“ Confound it, do you mean to say that instead of the com¬ 
pany owing us $2,400, we owe the company $7,960 ? ’’ 

“Well, yes.” 

“ And that we owe the men and the contractors nearly ten 
thousand dollars besides ? ” 

“ Owe them ! Oh bless my soul, you can’t mean that you 
have not paid these people ? ” 

“ But I do mean it! ” 

The president rose and walked the floor like a man in 



TOUCHING A WEAK SPOT. 


bodily pain. His brows contracted, he put his hand up anu 
clasped his forehead, and kept saying, “ Oh, it is too bad, too 














254 


PLAIN TALK. 


bad, too bad! Oh, it is bound to be found out—nothing 
can prevent it—nothing! ” 

Then he threw himself into his chair and said: 

“ My dear Mr. Brierson, this is dreadful—})erfectly dread¬ 
ful. It will be found out. It is bound to tarnish the good 
name of the company; our credit will be seriously, most 
seriously impaired. How could you be so thoughtless—the 
men ought to have been paid though it beggared us all! ’’ 
They ought, ought they ? Then why the devil—my 
name is not Bryerson, by the way—why the mischief didn’t 
the compa—why what in the nation ever became of the ap¬ 
propriation ? Where is that appropriation ?—if a stockholder 
may make so bold as to ask.” 

The appropriation ? — that paltry $200,000, do you 
mean ? ” 

“ Of course—but I didn’t know that $200,000 was so very 
paltry. Though I grant, of course, that it is not a large sum, 
strictly speaking. But where is it ? ” 

‘‘ My dear sir, you surprise me. You surely cannot have 

had a large acquaintance 
with this sort of thing. 
Otherwise you would not 
have expected much of a 
result from a mere initial 
appropriation like that. It 
was never intended for any¬ 
thing but a mere nest egg 
for the future and real ap¬ 
propriations to cluster 
around.” 

“Indeed? Well, was it a 
myth, or was it a reality ? 
Whatever become of it ? ” 

“ Why the matter is simple enough. A Congressional ap¬ 
propriation costs money. Just reflect, for instance. A 
majority of the House Committee, say $10,000 apiece— 
$40,000; a majority of the Senate Committee, the same each 



CHAIRMAN OF COMMITTEE, 110,000. 



HOW THEY LOOK. 





—say $40,000 ; a little extra 
or two such committees, 
say $10,000 each—$20,000; 
and there’s $100,000 of the 
money gone, to begin with. 
Then, seven male lobbyists, 
at $3,000 each—$21,000; 
one female lobbyist, $10,- 
000; a high moral Con¬ 
gressman or Senator here 
and there—the high moral 
ones cost more, because they 
give tone to a measure— 
say ten of these at $3,000 
each, is $30,000; then a 
lot of small-fry country 
members who won’t vote 
for any thing whatever with- 
^ut pay—say twenty at 
$500 apiece, is $10,000; a 
lot of dinners to members 
<—say $10,000 altogether; 
lot of jimcracks for Con¬ 
gressmen’s wives and child¬ 
ren—those go a long way 
—you can’t spend too much 
money in that line—well, 
those things cost in a lump, 
say $10,000 — along there 
somewhere ;—and then 
comes your printed docu¬ 
ments— your maps, your 
tinted engravings, your 
pamphlets, your illuminat¬ 
ed show cards, your adver¬ 
tisements in a hundred and 
fifty papers at ever so much 
a line—because you’ve got 


to one or two chairmen of 


MALE LOBBYIST $3,U00. 


FEMALE LOBBYIST $3,000. 


HIGH MORAL SENATOR $3,000. 

keep the papers all right 


256 


THE COMPANY’S GREAT CARDS. 


you are gone up, you know. Oh, my dear sir, printing 
bills are destruction itself. Ours, so far amount to —let me 

see—10; 52 ; 22; 13;—and 
then there’s 11; 14 ; 33— 
well, never mind the de^ 
tails, the total in clean num¬ 
bers foots up $118,254.42 
thus far! ” 

‘‘ What! ” 

“ Oh, yes indeed. Print¬ 
ing’s no bagatelle, I can tell 
you. And then there’s 
your contributions, as a com¬ 
pany, to Chicago fires and 
Boston fires, and orphan 
asylums and all that sort 
of thing—head the list, you see, with the company’s full 
name and a thousand dollars set opposite—great card, sir— 
one of the finest advertisements in the world—the preachers 
mention it in the pulpit when it’s a religious charity—one of 
the happiest advertisements in the world is your benevolent 
donation. Ours have amounted to sixteen thousand dollars 
and some cents up to this time.” 

“ Good heavens! ” 

“Oh, yes. Perhaps the biggest thing we’ve done in the 
advertising line was to get an officer of the U. S. govern¬ 
ment, of perfectly Himmalayan official altitude, to write up 
our little internal improvement for a religious paper of enor¬ 
mous circidation—I tell you that makes our bonds go hand¬ 
somely among the pious poor. Your religious paper is by 
far the best vehicle for a thing of this kind, because they’ll 
‘ lead ’ your article and put it right in the midst of the read¬ 
ing matter ; and if it’s got a few Scripture quotations in it, 
and some temperance platitudes and a bit of gush here and 
there about Sunday Schools, and a sentimental snuffie now 
and then about ‘ God’s precious ones, the honest hard-handed 
poor,’ it works the nation like a charm, my dear sir, and 



THE NEXT BEST DODGE. 


257 


never a man suspects that it is an advertisement; but your 
secular paper sticks you right into the advertising columns 
and of course you don’t take a trick. Give me a religious 
paper to advertise in, every time; and if you’ll just look at 
their advertising pages, you’ll observe that other people think 
a good deal as I do—especially people who have got little 
financial schemes to make everybody rich with. Of course I 
me^n your great big metropolitan religious papers that know 
how to serve God and make money at the same time—that’s 
your sort, sir, that’s your sort—a religious paper that isn’t 
run to make money is no use to us, sir, as an advertising 
medium—no use to anybody in our line of business. I 
guess our next best dodge was sending a pleasure trip of 
newspaper reporters out to l^apoleon. J^ever paid them a 
cent; just filled them up‘ with champagne and the fat of the 
land, put pen, ink and paper before them while they were 
red-hot, and bless your soul when you come to read their 
letters you’d have supposed they’d been to heaven. And if a 
sentimental squeamishness held one or two of them back from 
taking a less rosy view of Napoleon, our hospitalities tied his 
tongue, at least, and he said nothing at all and so did us no 
harm. Let me see—have I stated all the expenses I’ve been 
at ? No, I was near forgetting one or two items. There’s 
your official salaries—you can’t get good men for nothing. 
Salaries cost pretty lively. And then there’s your big high- 
sounding millionaire names stuck into your advertisements as 
stockholders—another card, that—and they are stockholders, 
too, but you have to give them the stock and non-assessable 
at that—so they’re an expensive lot. Very, very expensive 
thing, take it all around, is a big internal improvement con¬ 
cern—but you see that yourself, Mr. Bryerman—you see that, 
yourself, sir.” 

“ But look here. I think you are a little mistaken about 
it’s ever having cost anything for Congressional votes. 1 
happen to know something about that. I’ve let you say your 
gay—now let me say mine. I don’t wish to seem to throw 
any suspicion on anybody’s statements, because we are all 
liable to be mistaken. But how would it strike you if 1 were 
17- 


258 


HARKY DON’T SEE THE POINT. 


to say that 1 was in Washington all the time this bill was 
pending ?—and what if I added that / put the measure 
through myself? Yes, sir, I did that little thing. And more¬ 
over, I never paid a dollar for any man’s vote and never 
promised one. There are some ways of doing a thing that 
are as good as others which other people don’t happen to 
think about, or don’t have the knack of succeeding in, if they 
do happen to think of them. My dear sir, I am obliged to 
knock some of your expenses in the head—for never a cent 
was paid a Congressman or Senator on the part of this Navi ¬ 
gation Company. 

The president smiled blandly, even sweetly, all through 
this harangue, and then said: 

“ Is that so ?” 

Every word of it.” 

“ Well it does seem to alter the complexion of things a 
little. You are acquainted with the members down there, of 
course, else you could not have worked to such advantage ?” 

“ I know them all, sir. I know their wives, their children, 
their babies—T even made it a point to be on good terms 
with their lackeys. I know every Congressman well—even 
familiarly.” 

“ Yery good. Do you know any of their signatures ? Do 
you know their handwriting ?” 

Why I know their handwriting as well as I know my 
own—have had correspondence enough with them, I should 
think. And their signatures—why 1 can tell their initials, 
even.” 

The president went to a private safe, unlocked it and got 
out some letters and certain slips of paper. Then he said : 

“ Now here, for instance; do you believe that that is a 
genuine letter ? Do you know this signature here ?—and 
this one ? Do you know who those initials represent—and 
are they forgeries ?” 

Harry was stupefied. There were things there that made 
his brain swim. Presently, at the bottom of one of the 
letters he saw a signature that restored his equilibrium; it 
even brought the sunshine of a smile to his face. 


HAliRY GETS LIGHT. 


259 


The president said: 

“ That name amuses yon. You never suspected him ? ” 

‘‘ Of course I ought to have suspected him, but I don’t 
believe it ever really occurred to me. Well, well, well— 



DOCUMENTARY PROOF. 


how did you ever have the nerve to approach him, of all 
others ? ” 

‘^Why my friend, we never think of accomplishing any¬ 
thing without his help. He is our mainstay. But how do 
those letters strike you ? ” 

“ They strike me dumb ! AVhat a stone-blind idiot I have 
been! ” 

Well, take it all around, I suppose you had a pleasant 
time in Washington,” said the president, gathering up the 
letters; ‘‘of course you must have had. Yery few men 
could go there and get a money bill through without buying 
a single—” 

“ Come, now, Mr. President, that’s plenty of that! I take 
back everything I said on that head. I’m a wiser man to-day 
than I was yesterday, I can tell you.” 



































260 


WHAT BECAME OF THE $200,000. 


“ I think you are. In fact I am satisfied you are. But 
now I showed you these things in confidence, you under¬ 
stand. Mention facts as much as you want to, but don’t 
mention names to anybody. I can depend on you for that, 
can’t I \ ” 

‘‘ Oh, of course. I understand the necessity of that. I 
will not betray the names. But to go back a bit, it begins to 
look as if you never saw any of that appropriation at all ? ” 

“We saw nearly ten thousand dollars of it—and that was 
all. Several of us took turns at log-rolling in Washington, 
and if we had charged anything for that service, none of that 
$10,000 would ever have reached 'New YorJi.” 

“ If you hadn’t levied the assessment you would have been 
in a close place I judge ? ” 

“ Close ? Have you figured up the total of the disburse¬ 


ments I told you of ? ” 

“No, I didn’t think of that.” 

“Well, lets see: 

Spent in Washington, say, . . $191,000 

Printing, advertising, etc., say, . 118,000 

Charity, say, . . 16,000 


Total, . . $325,000 

“ The money to do that with, comes from—— 

Appropriation, . . . $200,000 

Ten per cent, assessment on capital of 

$ 1 , 000 , 000 , . . . 100,000 


Total, . . $300,000 


“Which leaves us in debt some $25,000 at this moment. 
Salaries of home officers are still going on ; also printing and 
advertising. Next month will show a state of things! ” 

“ And then—burst up, I suppose ? ” 

“ By no means. Levy another assessment.” 

“ Oh, I see. That’s dismal.” 

“ By no means.” 

“ Why isn’t it ? What’s the road out ? ” 

“Another appropriation, don’t you see?” 




MOURNING ALL ’ROUND. 


261 


“ Bother the appropriations. They cost more than they 
come to.” 

‘‘Not the next one. We’ll call for half a million—get it 
and go for a million the very next month.” 

“ Yes, but the cost of it! ” 

The president smiled, and patted his secret letters affection¬ 
ately. He said: 

“ All these people are in the next Congress. We shan’t 
have to pay them a cent. And what is more, they will work 
like beavers for us—perhaps it might be to their advantage.” 

Harry reflected profoundly a while. Then he said: 

“We send many missionaries to lift up the benighted races 
of other lands. How much cheaper and better it would be 
if those people could only come here and drink of our civili¬ 
zation at its fountain head.” 

“ I perfectly agree with you, Mr. Beverly. Must you go ? 
Well, good morning. Look in, when you are passing; and 
whenever I can give you any information about our affairs 
and prospects, I shall be glad to do it.” 

Harry’s letter was not a long one, but it contained at least 
the calamitous flgures that came out in the above conversa¬ 
tion. The Colonel found himself in a rather uncomfortable 
place—no $1,200 salary forthcoming; and himself held 
responsible for half of the $9,640 due the workmen, to say 
nothing of being in debt to the company to the extent of 
nearly $4,000. Polly’s heart was nearly broken ; the “ blues” 
returned in fearful force, and she had to go out of the room 
to hide the tears that nothing could keep back now. 

There was mourning in another quarter, too, for Louise 
had a letter. Washington had refused, at the last moment, 
to take $40,000 for the Tennessee Land, and had demanded 
$150,000! So the trade fell through, and now Washington 
was wailing because he had been so foolish. But he wrote 
that his man might probably return to the city, soon, and 
then he meant to sell to him, sure, even if he had to take 
$10,000. Louise had a good cry—several of them, indeed— 
and the family charitably forebore to make any comments 
that would increase her grief. 



262 


IIAWKEYE TKIUMPHANT. 


Spring blossomed, summer came, dragged its hot weeks by, 
and tbe Colonel’s spirits rose, day by day, for the railroad 
was making good progress. But by and by something hap¬ 
pened. Hawkeye had always declined to subscribe anything 
toward the railway, imagining that her large business would 
be a sufficient compulsory influence; but now Hawkeye was 
frightened; and before Col. Sellers knew what he was about, 
Hawkeye, in a panic, had rushed to the front and subscribed 
such a sum that Napoleon’s attractions suddenly sank into 
insignificance and the railroad concluded to follow a compar¬ 
atively straight course instead of going miles out of its way 
to build up a metropolis in the muddy desert of Stone’s 
Landing. 

The thunderbolt fell. After all the Colonel’s deep plan¬ 
ning ; after all his brain work and tongue work in drawing 



COLONEL SELLERS DESPONDENT. 


public attention to his pet project and enlisting interest in it; 
after all his fiiithful hard toil with his hands, and running 
hither and thither on his busy feet; after all his high hopes 
and splendid prophecies, the fates had turned their backs on 





































PEACE REIGNS AGAIN AT STONE’S LANDING. 263 


him at last, and all in a moment his air-castles crumbled to 
ruins about him. Hawkeye rose from her fright triumphant 
and rejoicing, and down went Stone’s Landing! One by one 
its meagre parcel of inhabitants packed up and moved away, 
as the summer waned and fall approached. Town lots were 
no longer salable, traffic ceased, a deadly lethargy fell upon 
the place once more, the ‘‘Weekly Telegraph” faded into an 
early grave, the wary tadpole returned from exile, the bull¬ 
frog resumed his ancient song, the tranquil turtle sunned hk 
back upon bank and log and drowsed his grateful life away 
as in the old sweet days of yore. 











CHAPTER XXIX. 

—Mihma hatak ash osh ilhkolit yakni ya lilopullit tvmaha holihtt* it^hpisa no 
kwshkoa untuklo ho hollissochit holisso afohkit tahli cha. Choan. lo. V. 

P hilip sterling was on his way to Ilium, in the state of 
Pennsylvania. Ilium was the railway station nearest 
to the tract of wild land which Mr. Bolton had commissioned 
him to examine. 

On the last day of the journey as the railway train Philip 
was on was leaving a large city, a lady timidly entered the 
drawing-room car, and hesitatingly took a chair that was at 
the moment unoccupied. Philip saw from the window that 
a gentleman had put her upon the car just as it was starting. 
In a few moments the conductor entered, and without wait¬ 
ing an explanation, said roughly to the lady, 

Now you can’t sit there. That seat’s taken. Go into' 
the other car.” 

“1 did not intend to take the seat,” said the lady rising, 
‘‘ 1 only sat down a moment till the conductor should come 
and give me a seat.” 

“ There aint any. Car’s full. You’ll have to leave.” 

“But, sir,” said the lady, appealingly, “I thought- 

“Can’t help what you thought—you must go into the 
other car.” 

“ The train is going very fast, let me stand here till we 
stop.” 


264 



RAILROAD GALLANTRY. 


265 


“The lady can have my seat,” cried Philip, springing up. 
The conductor turned towards Philip, and coolly and delib- 



THE MONARCH OE ALL HE SURVEYS. 


erately surveyed him from head to foot, with contempt in 
every line of his face, turned his back upon him without a 
word, and said to the lady, 

“ Come, I’ve got no time to talk. You must go nowP 

The lady, entirely disconcerted by such rudeness, and 
frightened, moved towards the door, opened it and stepped 
out. The train was swinging along at a rapid rate, jarring 
from side to side; the step was a long one between the cars 
and there was no protecting grating. The lady attempted it, 
but lost her balance, in the wind and the motion of the car, 
and fell! She would inevitably have gone down under the 
wheels, if Philip, who had swiftly followed her, had not 

























266 


PHILIP STRIKES FROM THE SHOULDER. 


cauglit her arm and drawn her up. He then assisted her 
across, found her a seat, received her bewildered thanks, and 
returned to his car. 

The conductor was still there, taking his tickets, and growl¬ 
ing something about imposition. Philip marched up to him, 
and burst out wdth, 

“ You are a brute, an infernal brute, to treat a wmman that 
way.” 

“ Perhaps you’d like to make a fuss about it,” sneered the 
conductor. 

Philip’s reply was a blow, given so suddenly and planted 
so squarely in the conductor’s face, that it sent him reeling 
over a fat passenger, who w^as looking up in mild wonder 
that any one should dare to dispute with a conductor, and 
against the side of the car. 

He recovered himself, reached the bell rope, “ Damn you. 
I’ll learn you,” stepped to the door and called a couple of 
brakemen, and then, as the speed slackened, roared out, 

‘‘ Get off this train.” 

I shall not get off. I have as much right here as you.” 

‘‘We’ll see,” said the conductor, advancing with the brake- 
men. The passengers protested, and some of them said to 
each other, “ That’s too bad,” as they always do in such cases, 
but none of them offered to take a hand with Philip. The 
men seized him, wrenched him from his seat, dragged him 
along the aisle, tearing his clothes, thrust him from the car, 
and then flung his carpet-bag, overcoat and umbrella after 
him. And the train went on. 

The conductor, red in the face and puffing from his exer¬ 
tion, swaggered through the car, muttering “ Puppy, I’ll learn 
him.” The passengers, when he had gone, were loud in their 
indignation, and talked about signing a protest, but they did 
nothing more than talk. 

The next morning the Hooverville Patriot and Clarion 
had this “ item ” :— 

SLIGHTUALLY OVEEBOARD. 

“ We learn that as the down noon express was leaving H-yesterday a 

lady I (God save the mark) attempted to force herself into the already full 


WHAT THE PAPERS SAID. 


267 


palati&l car. Conductor Slum, who is too old a bird to be caught with chaff, court¬ 
eously informed her that the car was full, and when she insisted on remaining, 
he persuaded her to go into the car where she belonged. Thereupon a young 
sprig, from the East, blustered up, like a Shanghai rooster, and began to sass 
the conductor with his chin music. That gentleman delivered the young aspirant 
for a muss one of his elegant little left-handers, which so astonished him that he 
began to feel for his shooter. Whereupon Mr. Slum gently raised the youth, 
carried him forth, and set him down just outside the car to cool off. Whether 
the young blood has yet made his way out of Bascom’s swamp, we have not 
learned. Conductor Slum is one of the most gentlemanly and efficient officers 
on the road ; but he ain’t trifled with, not much. We learn that the company 
have put a new engine on the seven o’clock train, and newly upholstered the 
drawing-room car throughout. It spares no effort for the comfort of the travel¬ 
ing public.” 

Philip never had been before in Bascom’s swamp, and 
there was nothing inviting in it to detain him. After the 
train got out of the way he crawled out of the briars and the 
mud, and got upon the track. He was somewhat bruised, 
but he was too angry to mind that. He plodded along over 
the ties in a very hot condition of mind and body. In the 
scuffle, his railway check had disappeared, and he grimly 
wondered, as he noticed the loss, if the company would per¬ 
mit him to walk over their track if they should know he 
hadn’t a ticket. 

Philip had to walk some five miles before he reached a 
little station, where he could wait for a train, and he had 
ample time for reflection. At first he was full of vengeance 
on the company. He would sue it. He would make it pay 
roundly. But then it occurred to him that he did not know 
the name of a witness he could summon, and that a personal 
fight against a railway corporation was about the most hope¬ 
less in the world. He then thought he would seek out that 
conductor, lie in wait for him at some station, and thrash him, 
or get thrashed himself. 

But as he got cooler, that did not seem to him a project 
worthy of a gentleman exactly. Was it possible for a gentle¬ 
man to get even with such a fellow as that conductor on 
the latter’s own plane ? And when he came to this point, he 
began to ask himself, if he had not acted very much like a 


268 


SOBER SECOND THOUGHT. 


fool. He didn’t regret striking the fellow—he hoped he had 
left a mark on him. But, after all, was that the best waj ? 
Here was he, Philip Sterling, calling himself a gentleman, 
in a brawl with a vulgar conductor, about a woman he had 
never seen before. Why should he have put himself in such 
a ridiculous position ? Wasn’t it enough to have offered the 
lady his seat, to have rescued her from an accident, perhaps 
from death ? Suppose he had simply said to the conductor, 
“ Sir, your conduct is brutal, I shall report you.” The pass¬ 
engers, who saw the affair, might have joined in a report 
against the conductor, and he might really have accomplished 
something. And, now ! Philip looked at his torn clothes, and 
thought with disgust of his haste in getting into a fight with 
such an autocrat. 

At the little station where Philip waited for the next train, 
he met a man who turned out to be a justice of the peace in 
that neighborhood, and told him his adventure. He was a 
kindly sort of man, and seemed very much interested. 

“ Hum ’em ” said he, when he had heard the story. 

Do you think any thing can be done, sir?” 

“ Wal, I guess tain’t no use. 1 hain’t a mite of doubt of 
every word you say. But suin’s no use. The railroad com¬ 
pany owns all these people along here, and the judges on the 
bench too. Spiled your clothes ! wal, “ least said’s soonest 
mended.” You haint no chance with the company.” 

When next morning, he read 
the humorous account in the 
Patriot and Clarion^ he saw 
still more clearly what chance 
he would have had before the 
public in a fight with the rail¬ 
road company. 

Still Philip’s conscience told 
him that it was his plain duty 
to carry the matter into the 
courts, even with the certainty 
of defeat. He confessed that neither he nor any citizen had 
a right to consult his own feelings or conscience in a case 




PHILIP CONFESSES HE IS A BAD CITIZEN. 


269 


where a law of the land had been violated before his own 
eyes. He confessed that every citizen’s tirst duty in such a 
case is to put aside his own business and devote Lis time and 
his best efforts to seeing that the infraction is promptly pun¬ 
ished ; and he knew that no country can be well governed 
unless its citizens as a body keep religiously before their 
minds that they are the guardians of the law, and that the 
law officers are only the machinery for its execution, nothing 
more. As a ffnality he was obliged to confess that he was a 
bad citizen, and also that the general laxity of the time, and 
the absence of a sense of duty toward any part of the commu¬ 
nity but the individual himself were ingrained in him, and 
he was no better than the rest of the people. 

The result of this little adventure was that Philip did not 
reach Ilium till daylight the next morning, when he descended, 
sleepy and sore, from a way train, and looked about him. 
Ilium was in a narrow mountain gorge, through which a 
rapid stream ran. It consisted of the plank platform on which 
he stood, a wooden house, half painted, with a dirty piazza 
(unroofed) in front, and a sign board hung on a slanting pole 
bearing the legend, “Hotel. P. Dusenheimer,” a sawmill 
further down the stream, a blacksmith-shop, and a store, and 
three or four unpainted dwellings of the slab variety. 

As Philip approached 
the hotel he saw what ap¬ 
peared to be a wild beast 
crouching on the piazza. 

It did not stir, however, 
and he soon found that 
it was only a stuffed skin. 

This cheerful invitation to 
the tavern was the remains 
of a huge panther which 
had been killed in the re¬ 
gion a few weeks before. 

Philip examined his ugly 
visage and strong crooked fore-arm, as he was waiting admit* 
tance, having pounded upon the door. 




270 


A MODEL HOTEL. 


“Yait a bit. I’ll shoost put on my trowsers,” shouted a 
voice from the window, and the door was soon opened by 
the yawning landlord. 

Morgen ! Didn’t hear d’ drain oncet. Dem boys geeps 
me up zo spate. Gom right in.” 

Philip was shown into a dirty bar-room. It was a small 
room, with a stove in the middle, set in a long shallow box 
of sand, for the benefit of the “ spitters,” a bar across one end 
—a mere counter with a sliding glass-case behind it contain¬ 
ing a few bottles having ambitious labels, and a wash-sink in 
one corner. On the walls were the bright yellow and black 
handbills of a traveling circus, with pictures of acrobats in 
human p^^ramids, horses fiying in long leaps through the air, 
and sylph-like women in a paradisaic costume, balancing 
themselves upon the tips of their toes on the bare backs of 
frantic and plunging steeds, and kissing their hands to the 
spectators meanwhile. 

As P hilip did not desire a room at that hour, he was invi¬ 
ted to wash himself at the nasty sink, a feat somewhat easier 
than drying his face, for the towel that hung in a roller over 
the sink was evidently as much a fixture as the sink itself, and 
belonged, like the suspended brush and comb, to the traveling 
public. Philip managed to complete his toilet by the use of 
his pocket-handkerchief, and declining the hospitality of the 
landlord, implied in the remark, You won’d dake notin’ ? ” 
he went into the open air to wait for breakfast. 

The country he saw was wild but not picturesque. The 
mountain before him might be eight hundred feet high, and 
was only a portion of a long unbroken range, savagely wood¬ 
ed, which followed the stream. Behind the hotel, and across 
the brawling brook, was another level-topped, wooded range 
exactly like it,. Ilium itself, seen at a glance, was old enough 
to be dilapidated, and if it had gained anything by being 
made a w’-ood and water station of the new railroad, it was 
only a new sort of grime and rawness. P. Dusenheimer, 
standing in the door of his uninviting groggery, when the 
trains stopped for water, never received from the traveling pub¬ 
lic any patronage except facetious remarks upon his personal 


A CALL TO BREAKFAST. 


271 


appearance. Perhaps a thousand times he had heard the remark, 
“ Ilium followed in most instances by a hail to him¬ 

self as “ ^neas,” with the inquiry “Where is old Anchises ? ” 
At first he had replied, “ Dere ain’t no such man; ” but irrita¬ 
ted by its senseless repetition, he had latterly dropped into the 
formula of, “You be dam.” 

Philip was recalled from the contemplation of Ilium by the 
rolling and growling of the gong within the hotel, the din 
and clamor increasing till the house was apparently unable to 
contain it, when it burst out of the front door and informed 
the world that breakfast was on the table. 

The dining room was long, low and narrow, and a narrow 
table extended its whole length. Upon this was spread a 
cloth which from appearance might have been as long in use 
as the towel in the bar-room. Upon the table was the usual 
service, the heavy, much nicked stone ware, the row of plated 
and rusty castors, the sugar bowls with the zinc tea-spoons 
sticiving up in them, the piles of yellow biscuits, the dis¬ 
couraged-looking plates of butter. The landlord waited, and 
Philip was pleased to observe the change in his manner. In 
the bar-room he was the conciliatory landlord. Standing behind 
his guests at table, he had an air of peremptory patronage 



A PLEASING LANDLORD. 


and the voice in which he.shot out the inquiry, as he seized 
Philip’s plate, “ Beefsteak or liver^ ” quite took away Philip’s 
power of choice. He begged for a glass of milk, after trying 







































































272 


PHILIP IN THE HAKNESS. 


that green lined compound called coffee, and made his break¬ 
fast out of that and some hard crackers which seemed to have 
been imported into Ilium before the introduction of the iron 
horse, and to have withstood a ten years siege of regular 
boarders, Greeks and others. 

The land that Philip had come to look at was at least five 
miles distant from Ilium station. A corner of it touched the 
railroad, but the rest was pretty much an unbroken wilderness, 
eight or ten thousand acres of rough country, most of it such 
a mountain range as he saw at Ilium. 

His first step was to hire three woodsmen to accompany 
him. By their help he built a log hut, and established a 
camp on the land, and then began his explorations, mapping 



down his survey as 
he went along, no¬ 
ting the timber, and 
the lay of the land, 
and making superfi¬ 
cial observations as 
to the prospect of 
coal. 

PHILIP HIRED THREE WOODSMEN. TllC laudlord at 

Ilium endeavored to persuade Philip to hire the ser¬ 
vices of a witch-hazel professor of that region, who could 
walk over the land wfith his wand and tell him infallibly 
whether it contained coal, and exactly where the strata ran. 
But Philip preferred to trust to his own study of the country, 












MINING OPEKATIONS. 


273 


and his knowledge of tlie geological formation. He spent a 
month in traveling over the laud and making calculations; 
and made up his mind that a fine vein of coal ran through 
the mountain about a mile from the railroad, and that the 
place to run in a tunnel was half way towards its summit. 

Acting with his usual promptness, Philip, with the consent 
of Mr. Bolton, broke ground there at once, and, before snow 
came, had some rude buildings up, and was ready for active 
operations in the spring. It was true that there were no out¬ 
croppings of coal at the place, and the people at Ilium said 
he “ mought as well dig for plug terbaccer there; ” but Philip 
had great faith in the uniformity of nature’s operations in 
ages past, and he had no doubt that he should strike at this 
spot the rich vein that had made the fortune of the Golden 
Briar Company. 



18 - 


CHAPTER XXX. 


—“ Gran pensier volgo • e, se tu lui secondl, 

Seguiranno gli effetti alle speranze: 

Tessi la tela, ch’ io ti mostro ordita, 

Di canto vecchio esecutrice ardita.” 

“ Belle domna vostre socors 

M’agra mestier, s’a vos plagues.” B. de Verdador, 

O I^CE more Louise had good news from her Washington— 
Senator Dilworthy was going to sell the Tennessee Land 
to the government! Louise told Laura in confidence. She 
had told her parents, too, and also several bosom friends ; but 
all of these people had simply looked sad when they heard 
the news, except Laura. Laura’s face suddenly brightened 
under it—only for an instant, it is true, but poor Louise was 
grateful for even that fleeting ray of encouragement. When 
next Laura was alone, she fell into a train of thought some¬ 
thing like this: 

“ If the Senator has really taken hold of this matter, I may 
look for that invitation to his house at any moment. I am 
perishing to go ! I do long to know whether I am only sim¬ 
ply a large-sized pigmy among these pigmies here, who tum¬ 
ble over so easily when one strikes them, or whether I am 
really—.” Her thoughts drifted into other channels, for a 
season. Then she continued:—He said I could be useful 

274 


THE SENATOR SENDS LAURA AID AND COMFORT. 275 

in the great cause of philanthropy, and help in the blessed 
work of uplifting the poor and the ignorant, if he found it 
feasible to take hold ot our Land. Well, that is neither here 
nor there ; what I want, is to go to Washington and find out 
what I am. I want money, too 5 and if one may judge by 
what she hears, there are chances there for a —.” For a fas¬ 
cinating woman, she was going to say, perhaps, but she did 
not. 

Along in the fall the invitation came, sure enough. It 
came officially through brother Washington, the private Sec¬ 
retary, who appended a postscript that was brimming with 
delight over the prospect of seeing the Duchess again. He 
said it would be happiness enough to look upon her face once 
more—it would be almost too much happiness when to it was 
added the fact that she would bring messages with her that 
were fresh from Louise’s lips. 

In Washington’s letter were several important enclosures. 
For instance, there was the Senator’s check for $2,000—‘^to 
buy suitable clothing in New York with ! ” It was a loan to 
be refunded when the Land was sold. Two thousand—this 
was fine indeed. Louise’s father was called rich, but Laura 
doubted if Louise had ever had $400 worth of new clothing 
at one time in her life. With the check came two throus:!! 
tickets—good on the railroad from Hawkeye to Washington via 
New York—and they were‘‘dead-head ” tickets, too, which 
had been given to Senator Dilworthy by the railway com¬ 
panies. Senators and representatives were paid thousands of 
dollars by the government for traveling expenses, but they 
always traveled “dead-head” both ways, and then did as any 
honorable, high-minded men would naturally do—declined to 
•receive the mileage tendered them by the government. The 
Senator had plenty of railway passes, and could easily spare 
two to Laura—one for herself and one for a male escort. 
Washington suggested that she get some old friend of the 
family to come with her, and said the Senator would “dead¬ 
head” him home again as soon as he had grown tired of the 


276 


COL. SELLERS’ OPINION OF HARRY. 


sights of the capital. Laura thought the thing over. At first 
she was pleased with the idea, but presently she began to feel 
diflferently about it. Finally she said, “ No, our staid, steady¬ 
going Hawkeye friends’ notions and mine differ about some 
things—they respect me, now, and I respect them—better 
leave it so—I will go alone; I am not afraid to travel by 
myself.” And so communing with herself, she left the house 
for an afternoon walk. 

Almost at the door she met Col. Sellers. She told him 
about lier invitation to Washington. 

“Bless me!” said the Colonel. “I have about made up 
my mind to go there myself. You see we’ve got to get 
another appropriation through, and the Company want me to 
come east and put it through Congress. Harry’s there, and 
he’ll do what he can, of course; and Harry’s a good fellow 
and always does the very best he knows how, but then he’s 
young—rather young for some parts of such work, you know 
—and besides he talks too much, talks a good deal too much; 
and sometimes he appears to be a little bit visionary, too, I 
think—the worst thing in the world for a business man. 
A man like that always exposes his cards, sooner or later. 
This sort of thing wants an old, quiet, steady hand—wants an 
old cool head, you know, that knows men, through and 
through, and is used to large operations. I’m expecting my . 
salary, and also some dividends from the company, and if 
they get along in time. I’ll go along with you Laura—take 
you under my wing—you mustn’t travel alone. Lord I wish 
I had the money right now.—But there’ll be plenty soon— 
plenty.” 

Laura reasoned with herself that if the kindl}^ simple- 
hearted Colonel was going anyhow, what could she gain by 
traveling alone and throwing away his company ? So she 
told him she accepted his offer gladly, gratefully., She said 
it would be the greatest of favors if he would go with her 
and protect her—not at his own expense as far as railway 
fares were concerned, of course; she could not expect him to 


LAURA AND COL. SELLERS VISIT WASHINGTON. 27T 


^)ut himself to so much trouble for her and pay his fare 
besides. But he wouldn’t hear of her paying his fare—it 
would he only a pleasure to him to serve her. Laura insisted 
on furnishing the tickets; and tinally, when argument failed, 
she said the tickets cost neither her nor any one else a cent— 
she had two of them—she needed but one—and if he would 
not take the other she would not go with him. That settled 
the matter. He took the ticket. Laura was glad that she 
had the check for new clothing, for she felt very certain of 
being able to get the Colonel to borrow a little of the money 
to pay hotel bills with, here and there. 

She wrote Washington to look for her and Col. Sellers 
toward the end of November; and at about the time set the 
two travelers arrived safe in the capital of the nation, sure 
enough. 




CHAPTER XXXI. 


Deh! ben fdra all’ incontro ufflcio uraano, 

E bed n’avresti tu gioja e diletto, 

Se la pietosa tua medica raano 
Avvicinassi al valoroso petto. 

Tasso, 

She, gracious lady, yet no paines did spare 
To doe him ease, or doe him remedy: 

Many restoratives of vertues rare 
And costly cordialles she did apply, 

To mitigate his stubborne malady. 

Spenser's Faerie Queene, 

M r. henry BRIERLY was exceedingly busy in New 
York,so be wrote Col. Sellers, but be would drop every¬ 
thing and go to Washington. 

The Colonel believed that Harry was the prince of lobby¬ 
ists, a little too sanguine, may be, and given to speculation, 
but, then, he knew everybody; the Columbus River naviga¬ 
tion scheme was got through almost entirely by his aid. He 
was needed now to help through another scheme, a benevolent 
scheme in which Col. Sellers, through the Hawkinses, had a 
deep interest. 

I don’t care, you know,” he wrote to Harry, ‘‘ so much 
about the niggroes. But if the government will buy this 
land, it will set up the Hawkins family—make Laura an 
heiress—and I shouldn’t wonder if Beriah Sellers would set 
up his carriage again. Dilworthy looks at it different, of 
course. He’s all for philanthropy, for benefiting the colored 

27S 


THE BOLTONS. 


279 


race. There’s old Balaam, was in the Interior—used to be 
the Bev. Orson Balaam of Iowa—he’s made the riffle on the 
Injun ; great Injun pacificator and land dealer. Balaam’s 
got the Injun to himself, 
and I suppose that Sena¬ 
tor Dilworthy feels that 
there is nothing left him 
but the colored man. I do 
reckon he is the best friend 
the colored man has got 
in Washington.” 

Though Harry was in a 
hurry to reach Washington, 
he stopped in Philadelphia, 
and prolonged Lis visit day 
after day, greatly to the 
detriment of his business both in Hew York and Wash¬ 
ington. The society at the Bolton’s might have been 
a valid excuse for neglecting business much more impor¬ 
tant than his. Philip was there; he was a partner with 
Mr. Bolton now in the new coal venture, concerning 
which there was much to be arranged in preparation for the 
Spring work, and Philip lingered week after week in the 
hospitable house. Alice was making a wfinter visit. Buth 
only went to towm twice a week to attend lectures, and the 
household was quite to Mr. Bolton’s taste, for he liked the 
cheer of company and something going on evenings. Harry 
was cordially asked to bring his traveling-bag there, and he 
did not need urging to do so. Hot even the thought of see¬ 
ing Laura at the capital made him restless in the society of 
the two young ladies; two birds in hand are wmrth one in the 
bi^sh certainly. 

Philip was at home—he sometimes wished he were not so 
much so. He felt that too much or not enough was taken 
for granted. Buth had met him, wdien he first came, 
with a cordial frankness, and her manner continued entirely 



BRO. BALAAM. 


280 


LOVE MAKING. 


unrestrained. She neither sought his company nor avoided it, 
and this perfectly level treatment irritated him more than 
any other could have done. It was impossible to advance 
much in love-making with one who offered no obstacles, had 
no concealments and no embarrassments, and whom any 
approach to sentimentality would be quite likely to set into a 
fit of laughter. 

“ Why, Phil,” she would say, “ what puts you in the dumps 
to day ? You are as solemn as the upper bench in Meeting. 
I shall have to call Alice to raise your spirits ; my presence 
seems to depress you.” 

“ It’s not your presence, but your absence when you are 
present,” began Philip, dolefully, with the idea that he was 
saying a rather deep thing. “ But you won’t understand 
me.” 

“ Ho, I confess I cannot. If you really are so low as to 
think I am absent when I am present, it’s a frightful case of 
aberration; I shall ask father to bring out Dr. Jackson 
Does Alice appear to be present when she is absent ?” 

‘‘ Alice has some human feeling, anyway. She cares for 
something besides musty books and dry bones. I think, 
Ruth, when I die,” said Philip, intending to be very grim 
and sarcastic, ‘‘I’ll leave you my skeleton. You might like 
that.” 

“It might be more cheerful than you are at times,” Ruth 
replied with a laugh. “ But you mustn’t do it without con¬ 
sulting Alice. She might not like it.” 

“ I don’t know why you should bring Alice up on every 
occasion. Do you think I am in love with her ?” 

“Bless you, no. It never entered my head. Are you? 
The thought of Philip Sterling in love is too comical. I thought 
you were only in love with the Ilium coal mine, which you 
and father talk about half the time.” 

This is a specimen of Philip’s wooing. Confound the girl, 
he would say to himself, why does she never tease Harry and 
that young Shepley who comes here ? 

How differently Alice treated him. She at least never 


SISTERLY CONSOLATION. 


281 


mocked him, and it was a relief to talk with one who had 
some sympathy with him. And he did talk to her, by the 
hour, about liuth. The blundering fellow poured all his 
doubts and anxieties into her - ear, as if she had been the 
impassive occupant of one of those little wooden confessionals 
in the Cathedral on Logan Square. Has a confessor, if she is 
young and pretty, any feeling ? Does it mend the matter by 
calling her your sister ? 

Philip called Alice his good sister, and talked to her about 
love and marriage, meaning Puth, as if sisters could by no 
possibility have any personal concern in such things. Did 
Puth ever speak of him ? Did she think Puth cared for 
him ? Did Puth care for anybody at Fallkill ? Did she 
care for anything except her profession ? And so on. 

Alice was loyal to Puth, and if she knew anything she did 
not betray her friend. She did not, at any rate, give Philip 
too much encouragement. What woman, under the circum¬ 
stances, would ? 

“ I can tell you one thing, Philip,’’ she said, “ if ever Puth 
Bolton loves, it will be with her whole soul, in a depth of 
passion that will sweep everything before it and surprise even 
herself.” 

A remark that did not much console Philip, who imagined 
that only some grand heroism could unlock the sweetness of 
such a heart; and Philip feared that he wasn’t a hero. He 
did not know out of what materials a woman can construct a 
hero, when she is in the creative mood. 

Harry skipped into this society with his usual lightness and 
gaiety. His good nature was inexhaustible, and though he 
liked to relate his own exploits, he had a little tact in adapt¬ 
ing himself to the tastes of his hearers. He was not long in 
finding out that Alice liked to hear about Philip, and Harry 
launched out into the career of his friend in the West, with a 
prodigality of invention that would have astonished the chief 
actor. He was the most generous fellow in the world, and 
picturesque conversation was the one thing in which he never 
was bankrupt. With Mr. Bolton he was the serious man of 



282 


HARRY AS A QUAKER. 


business, enjoying the confidence of many of the monied men 
in New York, whom Mr. Bolton knew, and engaged with 
them in railway schemes and government contracts. Philip, 
who had so long known Harry, never could make up his 
mind tliat Harry did not himself believe that he was a chief 
actor in all these large operations of which he talked so 
much. 

Harry did not neglect to endeavor to make himself agree¬ 
able to Mrs. Bolton, by paying great attention to the chil¬ 
dren, and b}^ professing the warmest interest in the Friends’' 
faith. It always seemed to him the most peaceful religion; 
he thought it must be much easier to live by an internal light 
than by a lot of outward rules; he had a dear Quaker aunt 
in Providence of whom Mrs. Bolton constantly reminded 
him. He insisted upon going with Mrs. Bolton and the chil¬ 
dren to the Friends Meeting on First Hay, when Puth and 
Alice and Philip, world’s people,” went to a church in town, 
and he sat through the hour of silence with his hat on, in 
most exemplary patience. In short, this amazing actor suc¬ 
ceeded so Tvell with Mrs. Bolton, that she said to Philip one 
day, 

“ Thy friend, Henry Brierly, appears to be a very worldly 
minded young man. Hoes he believe in anything ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Philip laughing, “ he believes in more 
things than any other person 1 ever saw.” 

To Kuth Harry seemed to be very congenial. He was never 
moody for one thing, but lent himself with alacrity to what¬ 
ever her fancy was. He was gay or grave as the need might 
be. No one apparently could enter more fully into her plans 
for an independent career. 

‘‘My father,” said Harry, “w^as bred a physician, and 
practiced a little before he went into Wall street. I always 
had a leaning to the study. There was a skeleton hanging 
in the closet of my father’s study when I was a boy, that I 
used to dress up in old clothes. Oh, I got quite familiar with 
the human frame.” 

“You must have,” said Philip. “Was that where you 



HARRY THINKS OF STUDYING MEDICINE. 


283 


learned tc play the bones? He is a master of those musical 
instruments, Hutli; lie plays well enough to go on the stage.” 

Philip hates science of any kind, and steady application,” 
retorted Harry. He didn’t fancy Philip’s banter, and when 
the latter had gone out, and Pnth asked, 

‘‘Why don’t you take up medicine, Mr. Brierly ?” 

Harry said, “ I have it in mind. I believe I would begin 
attending lectures this winter if it weren’t for being wanted 
in Washington. But medicine is particularly women’s prov¬ 
ince.” 

“AVhy so?” asked Puth, rather amused. 

“Well, the treatment of disease is a good deal a matter of 
sympathy. A woman’s intuition is better than a man’s. 
Nobody knows anything, really, you know, and a woman can 
guess a good deal nearer than a man.” 

“ You are very complimentary to my sex.” 

“ But,” said Harry frankly, “ I should want to choose my 
doctor; an ugly woman would ruin me. the disease would be 
sure to strike in and kill me at sight of her. I thiidv a pretty 
physician, with engaging manners, would coax a fellow to 
live through almost anything.” 

“ I am afraid you are a scoffer, Mr. Brierly.” 

“ On the contrary, I am quite sincere. Wasn’t it old 
what’s his name? that said only the beautiful is useful?” 

Whether Buth was anything more than diverted with 
Harry’s company, Philip could not determine. He scorned 
at any rate to advance his own interest by any disparaging 
communications about Harry, both because he could not help 
liking the fellow himself, and because he may have known 
that he could not more surely create a sympathy for him in 
Puth’s mind. That Puth was in no danger of any serious 
impression he felt pretty sure, felt certain of it when he 
reflected upon her severe occupation with her profession. 
Hang it, he would say to himself, she is nothing but pure 
intellect anywa3^ And he only felt uncertain of it when she 
was in one of her moods of raillery, with mocking mischief 
in her eyes. At such times she seemed to prefer Harry’s 


*284: 


KUTH HAS A PREMONITION. 


.society to liis. When Philip was miserable about this, he 
always took refuge with Alice, who was never moody, and 
who generally laughed him out of his sentimental nonsense. 
He felt at his ease with Alice, and was never in want of 
:Something to talk about; and he could not account for the 
fact that he was so often dull with Ruth, with whom, of all 
persons in the world, he wanted to appear at his best. 

Harry was entirely satisfied with his own situation. A 
hird of passage is always at its ease, having no house to build, 
and no responsibility. He talked freely with Philip about 
Ruth, an almighty fine girl, he said, but what the deuce she 
wanted to study medicine for, he couldn’t see. 

There was a concert one night at the Musical Fund Hall 
:and the four had arranged to go in and return by the Ger¬ 
mantown cars. It was Philip’s plan, who had engaged the 
seats, and promised himself an evening with Ruth, walking 
with her, sitting by her in the hall, and enjoying the feeling 
of protecting that a man always has of a woman in a public 
place. He was fond of music, too, in a sympathetic way; at 
least, he knew that Ruth’s delight in it would be enough for 
him. 

Perhaps he meant to take advantage of the occasion to say 
some very serious things. His love for Ruth was no secret 
to Mrs. Bolton, and he felt almost sure that he should have no 
opposition in the family. Mrs. Bolton had been cautious 
in what she said, but Philip inferred everything from her 
reply to his own questions, one day, “ Has thee ever spoken 
thy mind to Ruth ?” 

Why shouldn’t he speak his mind, and end his doubts ? 
Ruth had been more tricksy than usual that day, and in a 
flow of spirits quite inconsistent, it would seem, in a young 
lady devoted to grave studies. 

Had Ruth a premonition of Philip’s intention, in his man¬ 
ner ? It may be, for when the girls came down stairs, ready 
to walk to the cars, and met Philip and Harry in the hall, 
Ruth said, laughing, 

‘‘ The two tallest must walk together,” and before Philip 


FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! 


285 


knew how it happened Ruth had taken Harry’s arm, and his 
evening was spoiled. He had too much politeness and good 
sense and kindness to show in his manner that he was hit. 
So he said to Harry, 

“ That’s your disadvantage in being short.” And he gave 
Alice no reason to feel during the evening that she would 
not have been his first choice for the excursion. But he was 
none the less chagrined, and not a little angry at the turn the 
afiair took. 

The Hall was crowded with the fashion of the town.— 
The concert was one of those fragmentary drearinesses that 
people endure because they are fashionable; tours deforce on 
the piano, and fragments from operas, which have no mean¬ 
ing without the setting, with weary pauses of waiting between; 
there is the comic basso who is so amusing and on such famil¬ 
iar terms with the audience, and always sings the Barber; the 
attitudinizing tenor, with his languishing ‘‘ Oh, Summer 
Nightthe soprano with her ‘‘Batti Batti,” who warbles 
and trills and runs and fetches her breath, and ends with a 
noble scream that brings down a tempest of applause in the 
midst of which she backs olf the stage smiling and bowing. 
It was this sort of concert, and Philip was think: that it 
was the most stupid one he ever sat through, when just as 
the soprano was in the midst of that touching ballad. 

Cornin’ thro’ the Rye ” (the soprano always sings ‘‘ Cornin’ 
thro’ the Rye ” on an encore—the Black Swan used to make 
it irresistible, Philip remembered, with her arch, If a body 
kiss a body ”) there was a cry of Fire! 

The hall is long and narrow, and there is only one place 
of egress. Instantly the audience was on its feet, and a rush 
began for the door. Men shouted, women screamed, and 
panic seized the swaying mass. A second’s thought would 
have convinced every one that getting out was impossible, 
and that the only effect of a rush would be to crush people 
to death. But a second’s thought was not given. A few cried 
“ Sit down, sit down,” but the mass was turned towards the 
door. Women were down and trampled on in the aisles, and 


i86 PHILIP FACES THE PANIC-STRUCK CROWD. 

stout men, utterly lost to self-control, were mounting the 
benches, as if to run a race over the mass to the entrance. 

Philip who had forced the girls to keep their seats saw, in 
a flash, the new danger, and sprang to avert it. In a second 
more those infuriated men would be over the benches and 
crushing Puth and Alice under their boots. He leaped upon 
the bench in front of them and struck out before him with all 
his might, felling one man who was rushing on him, and 



THE FIRE PANIC. 


checking for an instant the movement, or rather parting it, 
and causing it to flow on either side of him. Put it was 
only for an instant; the pressure behind was too great, and 
the next Philip was dashed backwards over the seat. 













4 < 







» 


rr 





'■« 




9 


\ 


\ 

t 


% 




* 


"V 























































































































































































































































































RUTH’S FIRST PATIENT. 


28T 


And yet that instant of arrest had probably saved the girls, 
for as Philip fell, the orchestra struck up “Yankee Doodle” 
in the liveliest manner. The familiar tune caught the ear 
of the mass, which paused in wonder, and gave the conduc¬ 
tor’s voice a chance to be heard—“ It’s a false alarm!” 

The tumult was over in a minute, and the next, laughter was 
heard, and not a few said, “I knew it wasn’t anything.” 
“ What fools people are at such a time.” 

The concert w^as over, however. A good many people 
were hurt, some of them seriously, and among them Philip 
Sterling was found bent across the seat, insensible, with his 
left arm hanging limp and a bleeding wmund on his head. 

When he was carried into the air he revived, and said it 
was nothing. A surgeon was called, and it was thought best 
to drive at once to the Bolton’s, the surgeon supporting Philip, 
who did not speak tne whole way. His arm was set and his 
head dressed, and the surgeon said he would come round all 
right in his mind by morning; he was very weak. Alice who 
was not much frightened while the panic lasted in the hall, 
was very much unnerved by seeing Philip so pale and bloody. 
Bufh assisted the surgeon with the utmost coolness and with 
skillful hands helped to dress Philip’s wounds. And there 
was a certain intentness and tierce energy in what she did that 
might have revealed something to Philip if he had been in 
his senses. 

But he was not, or he would not have murmured “ Let 
Alice do it, she is not too tall.” 

It was Puth’s first case. 


CHAPTER XXXn. 


Lo, swiche sleightes and subtiltees 
In women ben ; for ay as besy as bees 
Ben they us sely men for to deceive, 
And from a sothe wol they ever weive. 


Chaucer. 


A-SHINGTON’S delight in his beautiful sister was 



V T measureless. He said that she had always been the 
queenliest creature in the land, but that she was only common¬ 
place before, compared to what she was now, so extraordinary 
was the improvement wrought by rich fashionable attire. 

“ But your criticisms are too full of brotherly partiality to 
be depended on, Washington. Other people will judge dif¬ 
ferently.” 

“ Indeed they won’t. You’ll see. There will never be a 
woman in Washington that can compare with you. You’ll 
be famous within a fortnight, Laura. Everybody will want 
to know you. You wait—you’ll see.” 

Laura wished in her heart that the prophecy might come 
true ; and privately she even believed it might—for she had 
brought all the women whom she had seen since she left 
home under sharp inspection, and the result had not been 
unsatisfactory to her. 

During a week or two Washington drove about the city 
every day with her and familiarized her with all of its sali¬ 
ent features. She was beginning to feel very much at home 
with the town itself, and she was also fast acquiring ease with 


2S8 


LAURA FINDS HERSELF BECOMING FAMOUS. 289 


the distinguislied people she met at the Dilworthj table, and 
losing what little of country timidity she had brought with 
her from Hawkeye. She noticed with secret pleasure the 
little start of admiration that always manifested itself in the 
faces of the guests when she entered the drawing-room arrayed 
in evening costume :—she took comforting note of the fact 
that these guests directed a very liberal share of their conver- 
s^ition toward her; she observed with surprise, that famous 
statesmen and soldiers did not talk like gods, as a general 
thing, but said rather commonplace things for the most part; 
and she was filled with gratification to discover that she, on 
the contrary, was making a good many shrewd speeches and 
now and then a really brilliant one, and furthermore, that 
they were beginning to be repeated in social circles about the 
town. 

Congress began its sittings, and every day or two Wash¬ 
ington escorted her to the galleries set apart for lady mem¬ 
bers of the households of Senators and Representatives. Here 
was a larger field and a wider competition, but still she saw 
that many eyes were uplifted toward her face, and that first 
one person and then another called a neighbor’s attention to 
her; she was not too dull to perceive that the speeches of 
some of the younger statesmen were delivered about as much 
and perhaps more at her than to the presiding officer; and 
she was not sorry to see that the dapper young Senator from 
Iowa came at once and stood in the open space before the 
president’s desk to exhibit his feet as soon as she entered the 
gallery, whereas she had early learned from common report 
that his usual custom was to prop them on his desk and enjoy 
them himself with a selfish disregard of other people’s 
longings. 

Invitations began to flow in upon her and soon she was 
fairly “ in society.” “The season ” was now in full bloom, 
and the first select reception was at hand—that is to say, a 
reception confined to invited guests. 

Senator Dilworthy had become well convinced, by this 
19- 


290 


THE FIRST RECEPTION. 


time, that his judgment of the country-bred Missouri girl 
had not deceived him—it was plain that she was going to be 
a peerless missionary in the held of labor he designed her for, 
and therefore it would be perfectly safe and likewise judicious 
to send her forth well panoplied for her work.—So he had 
added new and still richer costumes to her wardrobe, and 
assisted their attractions with costly jewelry—loans on the 
future land sale. 

This first select reception took place at a cabinet minister’s 
—or rather a cabinet secretary’s—mansion. When Laura 
and the Senator arrived, about half past nine or ten in the 
evening, the j)lace was already pretty well crowded, and the 
white-gloved negro servant at the door was still receiving 
streams of guests.—The drawing-rooms were brilliant with 
gaslight, and as hot as ovens. The host and hostess stood 
just within the door of entrance; Laura was presented, 
and then she passed on into the maelstrom of be-jeweled and 
richly attired low-necked ladies and white-kid-gloved and steel 
pen-coated gentlemen—and wherever she moved she was fol¬ 
lowed by a buzz of admiration that was grateful to all her 
senses—so grateful, indeed, that her white face was tinged 
and its beauty heightened by a perceptible sufiTusion of color. 
She caught such remarks as, Who is she?” Superb 
woman!” That is the new beauty from the west,” etc., etc. 

Whenever she halted, she was presently surrounded by 
Ministers, Generals, Congressmen, and all manner of aristo¬ 
cratic people. Introductions followed, and then the usual 
original question, “How do you like Washington, Miss Haw¬ 
kins ?” supplemented by that other usual original question, 
“ Is this your first visit ?” 

These two exciting topics being exhausted, conversation 
generally drifted into calmer channels, only to be interrupted 
at frequent intervals by new introductions and new inquiries 
as to how Laura liked the capital and whether it was 
her first visit or not. And thus for an hour or more 
the Duchess moved through the crush in a rapture of happh 



her side, his eyes shouting tlieir gratification, so to speak! 

“ Oh, this is a happiness ! Tell me, my dear Miss Plawkins—” 
Sh ! I know what yon are going to ask. I do like 
Washington—I like it ever so mnch!” 

‘‘ ]^o, bnt I was going to ask—” 

“Yes, I am coming to it, coming to it as fast as I can. It 
is my first visit. I think yon shonld know that yourself.” 

And straightway a wave of the crowd swept her beyond 
his reach. 

“Now wdiat can the girl mean? Of course she likes 
Washington—I’m not snch a dummy as to have to ask her 
that. And as to its being her first visit, why hang it, she 
knows that I knew it was. Does she think I have tnrned 


THE REIGNING BELLE. 291 

ness, for her donbts were dead and gone, now—she knew she 
conld conquer here. A familiar face appeared in the midst of 
the multitude and Harry Brierly fonght his difficult way to 


THE FIRST RECEPTION. 













292 


HARRY TRIES A COUi^TER IRRITANT. 


idiot? Curious girl, anjwaj. But liow they do swarm 
about her! She is the reigning belle of Washington after 
this night. She’ll know five hundred of the heaviest guns in 
the town before this night’s nonsense is over. And this 
isn’t even the beginning. Just as I used to say—she’ll be 
a card in the matter of—yes sir ! She shall turn the men’s 
heads and I’ll turn the women’s ! What a team that will be 
in politics here. I wouldn’t take a quarter of a million for 
what I can do in this present session—no indeed I wouldn’t. 
How, here—I don’t altogether like this. That insignificant 
secretary of legation is—why, she’s smiling on him as if he— 
and now on the Admiral! How she’s illuminating that 
stuffy Congressman from Massachusetts—vulgar nngrammat- 
cal shovel-maker—greasy knave of spades. I don’t like 
this sort of thing. She doesn’t appear to be much distressed 
about me —she hasn’t looked this way once. All right, my bird 
of Paradise, if it suits you, go on. But I think I know your 
sex. ni go to smiling around a little, too, and see what 
effect will have on you.” 

And he did “ smile around a little,” and got as near to hei 
as he could to watch the effect, but the scheme was a failure 
—he could not get her attention. She seemed wholly uncon¬ 
scious of him, and so he could not fiirt with any spirit; he 
could only talk disjointedly; he could not keep his eyes on 
the charmers he talked to ; he grew irritable, jealous, and 
very unhappy. He gave up his enterprise, leaned his 
shoulder against a fiuted pilaster and pouted while he kept 
watch upon Laura’s every movement. His other shoulder 
stole the bloom from many a lovely cheek that brushed him 
in the surging crush, but he noted it not. He was too busy 
cursing himself inwardly for being an egotistical imbecile. 
An hour ago he had thought to take this country lass under 
his protection and show her “life” and enjoy her wonder and 
delight—and here she was, immersed in the marvel up to her 
eyes, and just a trifie more at home in it than he was him- 
self. And now his angry comments ran on again : 

“How she’s sweetening old Brother Balaam; and he—well 


HARRY GETS INFORMATION. 


293 


he is inviting her to the Congressional prayer-meeting, no 
doubt—better let old Dilworthy alone to see that she doesn’t 
overlook that. And now its Splurge, of New York ; and now 
its Batters of New Hampshire—and now the Yice President! 
Well I may as w^ell adjourn. I’ve got enough.” 

But he hadn’t. He got as far as the door—and then 
struggled back to take one more look, hating himself all the 
while for his weakness. 

Toward midnight, when supper was announced, the 
crowd thronged to the supper room where a long table was 
decked out wnth what seemed a rare repast, but which con¬ 
sisted of things better calculated to feast the eye than the 
appetite. The ladies were soon seated in files along the wall, 
and in groups here and there, and the colored waiters filled 
the plates and glasses and the male guests moved hither and 
thither conveying them to the privileged sex. 

Harry took an ice and stood up by the table with other 
gentlemen, and listened to the buzz of conversation while he 
ate. 

From these remarks he learned a good deal about Laura 
that was news to him. For instance, that she was of a dis¬ 
tinguished western family; that she was highly educated; 
that she was very rich and a great landed heiress; that she 
was not a professor of religion, and yet was a Christian in 
the truest and best sense of the word, for her whole heart 
was devoted to the accomplishment of a great and noble 
enterprise—none other than the sacrificing of her landed 
estates to the uplifting of the down-trodden negro and the 
turning of his erring feet into the way of light and righteous¬ 
ness. Harry observed that as soon as one listener had 
absorbed the story, he turned about and delivered it to his 
next neighbor and the latter individual straightway passed it 
on. And thus he saw it travel the round of the gentlemen 
and overfiow rearward among the ladies. He could not 
trace it backward to its fountain head, and so he could 
not tell who it was that started it. 

One thing annoyed Harry a great deal; and that was the 


294 


THE PEACOCK CLOSES HIS FEATHERS. 


reflection that he might have been in Washington days and 
days ago and thrown his fascinations about Laura with per¬ 
manent eflect while she was new and strange to the capital, 
instead of dawdling in Philadelphia to no purpose. He 
feared he had missed a trick,” as he expressed it. 

He only found one little opportunity of speaking again 
with Laura before the evening’s festivities ended, and then, 
for the first time in years, his airy self-complacency failed 
him, his tongue’s easy confidence forsook it in a great meas¬ 
ure, and he was conscious of an unheroic timidity. He was 
glad to get away and find a place where he could despise 
himself in private and try to grow his clipped plumes again. 

When Laura reached home she was tired but exultant, and 
Senator Dilworthy was pleased and satisfied. He called 
Laura “ my daughter,” next morning, and gave her some 
‘‘ pin money,” as he termed it, and she sent a hundred and 
fifty dollars of it to her mother and loaned a trifie to Col. 
Sellers. Then the Senator had a long private conference 
with Laura, and unfolded certain plans of his for the good 
of the country, and religion, and the poor, and temperance, 
and showed her how she could assist him in developing these 
worthy and noble enterprises. 




CHAPTER XXXIII. 

—Itancan Ihduhomnl eciyapi, Itancan Tohanokihi-eca ociyapi, Itancan lap!, 
waxte eciyapi, he hunkakewicaye cin etanhan otonwe kin caxtonpi; uakua 
Akicita Wicaxta-ceji-skuya, Akicita Anogite, Akicita Taku-kaxta— 


Jje richeste wifmen alle ; pat were in londe, 

and pere hehere monnen dohtere. 

pere wes moni pal hende; on faire pa uolke. 
par was mochel honde: of manicunnes londe, 
for ech wende to beon. betere pan open 


Layamm, 



AURA soon discovered that there were three distinct aris- 


-Li tocracies in Washington. One of these, (nick-named 
the Antiques,) consisted of cultivated, high-bred old fami¬ 
lies who looked back with pride upon an ancestry that had 
been always great in the nation’s councils and its wars from 
the birth of the republic downward. Into this select circle 
it was difficult to gain admission. No. 2 was the aristocracy 
of the middle ground—of which, more anon. No. 3 lay 
beyond ; of it we will say a word here. We will call it the 
Aristocracy of the Parvenus—as, indeed, the general public did. 
Official position, no matter how obtained, entitled a man to 
a place in it, and carried his family with him, no matter 
whence they sprang. Great wealth gave a man a still higher 
and nobler place in it than did official position. If this 
wealth had been acquired by conspicuous ingenuity, with 
just a pleasant little spice of illegality about it, all the better. 
This aristocracy was “ fast,” and not averse to ostentation. 


295 



296 


SOCIETY CUSTOMS. 


The aristocracy of the Antiques ignored the aristocracy of 
the Parvenus; the Parvenus laughed at the Antiques, (and 
secretly envied them.) 

There were certain important “ society ’’ customs which 
one in Laura’s position needed to understand. For in¬ 
stance, when a lady of any prominence comes to one 
of our cities and takes up her residence, all the ladies 
of her grade favor her in turn with an initial call, giving 
their cards to the servant at the door by way of introduction. 
They come singly, sometimes ; sometimes in couples;—and 
always in elaborate full dress. They talk two minutes and a 
quarter and then go. If the lady receiving the call desires a 
further acquaintance, she must return the visit within two 
weeks; to neglect it beyond that time means ‘‘ let the matter 
drop.” But if she does return the visit within two weeks, it 
then becomes the other party’s privilege to continue the 
acquaintance or drop it. She signifies lier willingness to con¬ 
tinue it by calling again any time within twelve months; 
after that, if the parties go on calling upon each other once a 
year, in our large cities, that is sufficient, and the acquaintance¬ 
ship holds good. The thing goes along smoothly, now. The 
annual visits are made and returned with peaceful regularity 
s>nd bland satisfaction, although it is not necessary that the 
two ladies shall actually see each other oftener than once 
every few years. Their cards preserve the intimacy and keep 
the acquaintanceship intact. 

For instance, Mrs. A. pays her annual visit, sits in her car¬ 
riage and sends in her card with the lower right hand corner 
turned down, which signifies that she has “ called in person 
Mrs. B. sends down word that she is “ engaged ” or “ wishes 
to be excused ”—or if she is a Parvenu and low-bred, she 
perhaps sends word that she is “ not at home.” Yery good ; 
Mrs. A. drives on happy and content. If Mrs. A.’s daughter 
marries, or a child is born to the family, Mrs. B. calls, sends 
in her card with the upper left hand corner turned down, and 
then goes along about her afifairs—for that inverted corner 
means ‘‘ Congratulations.” If Mrs. B.’s husband falls down 


THE ANTIQUES. 


297 


stairs and breaks liis neck, Mrs. A. calls, leaves ber card 
with the upper right hand corner turned down, and then takes 
her departure ; this corner means ‘‘ Condolence.” It is very 
necessary to get the corners right, else one may unintention¬ 
ally condole with a friend on a wedding or congratulate her 
upon a funeral. If either lady is about to leave the city, she 
goes to the other’s house and leaves her card with P. P. C.” 
engraved under the name—which signifies, ‘‘ Pay Parting 
Call.” But enough of etiquette. Laura was early instructed 
in the mysteries of society life by a competent mentor, and 
thus was preserved from troublesome mistakes. 

The first fashionable call she received from a member of 
the ancient nobility, otherwise the Antiques, was of a pat¬ 
tern with all she received from that limb of the aristocracy 
afterward. This call was paid by Mrs. Major-General Fulke- 
Fulkerson and daughter. They drove up at one in the after¬ 
noon in a rather antiquated vehicle with a faded coat of arms 
on the panels, an aged white-wooled negro coachman on the 
box and a younger darkey beside him—the footman. Both 



THE ATTACHES OF THE ANTIQUES. 


full character ; that is to say, with Elizabethan stateliness on 
the part of the dowager, and an easy grace and dignity on the 










298 


DEEPLY INTERESTING. 


part of the young lady that had a nameless something about it 
that suggested conscious superiority. The dresses of both 
ladies were exceedingly rich, as to material, but as notably 
modest as to color and ornament. All parties having seated 
themselves, the dowager delivered herself of a remark that 
was not unusual in its form, and yet it came from her lips 
with the impressiveness of Scripture: 

The weather has been unpropitious of late. Miss Haw¬ 
kins.” 

It has indeed,” said Laura. “ The climate seems to be 
variable.” 

“ It is its nature of old, here,” said the daughter—stating 
it apparently as a fact, only, and by her manner waving aside 
all personal responsibility on account of it. ‘‘ Is it not so, 
mamma ? ” 

“ Quite so, my child. Do you like winter. Miss Hawkins?” 
She said “ like ” as if she had an idea that its dictionary 
meaning was “ approve of.” 

Hot as Tvell as summer—though I think all seasons have 
their charms.” 

‘‘ It is a very just remark. The general held similar views. 
He considered snow in winter proper; sultriness in summer 
legitimate; frosts in the autumn the same, and rains in 
spring not objectionable. He was not an exacting man. And 
I call to mind now that he always admired thunder. You 
remember, child, your father always admired thunder ? ” 

He adored it.” 

“ Ho doubt it reminded him of battle,” said Laura. 

“ Yes, I think perhaps it did. He had a great respect for 
Hature. He often said there was something striking about 
the ocean. You remember his saying that, daughter? ” 

“Yes, often, mother. I remember it very well.” 

“ And hurricanes. He took a great interest in hurricanes. 
And animals. Dogs, especially—hunting dogs. Also comets. 
I think we all have our predilections. I think it is this that 
gives variety to our tastes.” Laura coincided with this view. 


NEWPORT VS. LONG BRANCH. 


29 ^ 


** Do you find it hard and lonely to be so far from your 
home and friends, Miss Hawkins ? ” 

I do find it depressing sometimes, but then there is so 
much about me here that is novel and interesting that my 
days are made up more of sunshine than shadow.” 

‘‘AYashington is not a dull city in the season,” said the 
young lady. ‘‘We have some very good society indeed, and 
one need not be at a loss for means to pass the time pleas¬ 
antly. Are you fond of watering-places. Miss Hawkins ? ” 

“ I have really had no experience of them, but I have al¬ 
ways felt a strong desire to see something of fashionable 
watering-place life.” 

“We of Washington are unfortunately situated in that 
respect,” said the dowager. “It is a tedious distance to 
Hewport. But there is no help for it.” 

Laura said to herself, “ Long Branch and Cape May are 
nearer than Newport; doubtless these places are low; I’ll 
feel my way a little and see.” Then she said aloud: 

“ Why I thought that Long Branch—” 

There was no need to “ feel ” any further—there was that 
in both faces before her which made that truth apparent. 
The dowager said: 

“Nobody goes ihere^ Miss Hawkins—at least only persons 
of no position in society. And the President.” She added 
that wuth tranquility. 

“ Newport is damp, and cold, and wundy and excessively 
disagreeable,” said the daughter, “ but it is very select. On« 
cannot be fastidious about minor matters when one has no 
choice.” 

The visit had spun out nearly three minutes, now. Both 
ladies rose with grave dignity, conferred upon Laura a formal 
invitation to call, and then retired from the conference. 
Laura remained in the drawing-room and left them to pilot 
themselves out of the house—an inhospitable thing, it seemed 
to her, but then she was following her instructions. She 
stood, steeped in reverie, a while, and then she said: 


300 


THE PARVENUS. 


I think 1 could always enjoy icebergs—as scenery—but 
not as company.” 

Still, she knew these two people by reputation, and was 
aware that they were not ice-bergs when they w^ere in their 
own waters and amid their legitimate surroundings, but on 
the contrary were people to be respected for their stainless 
characters and esteemed for their social virtues and their 
benevolent impulses. She thought it a pity that they had to 
be such changed and dreary creatures on occasions of state. 

The first call Laura received from the other extremity of 
the Washington aristocracy followed close upon the lieels of 
the one we have just been describing. The callers this time 
were the Hon. Mrs. Oliver Higgins, the Hon. Mrs. Patrique 
Oreille (pronounced O-Yolay^) Miss Bridget (pronounced 
Breezhay) Oreille, Mrs. Peter Gashly, Miss Gashly, and Miss 
Emmeline Gashly. 

The three carriages arrived at the same moment from dif¬ 
ferent directions. They were new and wonderfully shiny, 
and the brasses on the harness were highly polished and bore 
complicated monograms. There were showy coats of arms, 
too, with Latin mottoes. The coachmen and footmen wxre 
clad in bright new livery, of striking colors, and they had 
black rosettes with shaving-brushes projecting above them, on 
the sides of their stove-pipe hats. 

When the visitors swept into the^drawing-room they filled 
the place with a suffocating sweetness procured at the per¬ 
fumers. Their costumes, as to architecture, were the latest 
fashion intensified; they were rainj^w-hued; they were 
hung with jewels—chiefiy diamonds. It would have been 
plain to any eye that it had cost something to upholster these 
women. 

The Hon. Mrs. Oliver Higgins was the wife of a delegate 
from a distant territory—a gentleman who had kept the princi¬ 
pal ^‘saloon,” and sold the best whiskey in the principal village 
in his wilderness, and so, of course, was recognized as the 
first man of his commonwealth and its fittest representative. 


AN ELEGANT HONORABLE. 


301 


He was a man of paramount influence at home, for he was 
public spirited, he was chief of the fire department, lie had 
an admirable command of profane language, and had killed 
several “ parties.” His shirt fronts were always immaculate; 
his boots daintily polished, and no man could lift a foot and 
fire a dead shot at a stray speck of dirt on it with a white 
handkerchief with a finer grace than he; his watch chain 
weighed a pound ; the gold in his finger ring was worth forty 
five dollars ; he wore a diamond 
cluster-pin and he parted his hair 
behind. He had always been re¬ 
garded as the most elegant gen¬ 
tleman in his territory, and it was 
conceded by all that no man there¬ 
abouts was anywhere near his 
equal in the telling of an obscene 
story except the venerable white- 
haired governor himself. The 
Hon. Higgins had not come to 
serve his country in Washington 
for nothing. The appropriation 
which he had engineered through 
Congress for the maintenance of 
the Indians in his Territory would 
have made all those savages rich 
if it had ever got to them. 

was a 


The Hon. Mrs. Higgins 



HON. OLIVER HIGGINS. 


picturesque woman, and a fluent talker, and she held a tolera¬ 
bly high station among the Parvenus. Her English was fair 
enough, as a general thing—though, being of Hew York origin, 
she had the fashion peculiar to many natives of that city of 
pronouncing saw and law as if they were spelt sawr and lawr. 

Petroleum was the agent that had suddenly transformed 
the Gashlys from modest hard-working country village folk 
into ‘‘ loud ” aristocrats and ornaments of the city. 

The Hon. Patrique Oreille was a wealthy Frenchman from 
Cork. Hot that he was wealthy when he first came from 
Cork, but just the reverse. When lie first landed in Hew 







A FRENCHMAJN ±KUM (juki\^ 

Y ork with his wife, he had only halted at Castle Garden for 
a few minutes to receive and exhibit papers showing that he 
had resided in this country two years—and then he voted the 

democratic ticket and went 
up town to hunt a house. 
He found one and then 
went to work as assistant 
to an architect and builder, 
carrying a hod all day and 
studying politics evenings. 
Industry and economy soon 
enabled him to start a low 
rum shop in a foul locality, 
and this gave him political 
influence. In our country 
it is always our first care to 
see that our people have the opportunity of voting for their 
choice of men to represent and govern them—we do not per¬ 
mit our great officials to appoint the little officials. We prefer 
to have so tremendous a power as that in our own hands. We 
hold it safest to elect our judges and everybody else. In our 
cities, the ward meetings elect delegates to the nominating con¬ 
ventions and instruct them whom to nominate. The publi- 
oans and their retainers rule the ward meetings (for every¬ 
body else hates the worry of politics and stays at home); the 
delegates from the ward meetings organize as a nominating 
■convention and make up a list of candidates—one convention 
offering a democratic and another a republican list of—incor- 
ruptibles ; and then the great meek public come forward at 
the proper time and make unhampered choice and bless 
Heaven that they live in a free land where no form of despo¬ 
tism can ever intrude. 

Patrick O’Riley (as his name then stood) created friends 
and influence very fast, for he was always on hand at the 
police courts to give straw bail for his customers or establish an 
for them in case they had been beating anybody to death 



PAT O’RILEY AND THE OCLD WOMAN. 







HOW MR. O’RILEY SERVED HIS COUNTRY. 303 

on his premises. Consequently he presently became a political 
leader, and was elected to a petty office under the city govern¬ 
ment. Out of a meager salary he soon saved money enough 
to open quite a stylish liquor saloon higher up town, with a 
faro bank attached and plenty of capital to conduct it with. 
This gave him fame and great respectability. The position 
of alderman was forced upon him, and it was just the same as 
presenting him a gold mine. He had tine horses and car¬ 
riages, now, and closed up his whiskey mill. 

By and by he became a large contractor for city work, and 
was a bosom friend of the great and good Win. M. Weed 
himself, who had stolen $20,000,000 from the city and was a 
man so envied, so honored, so adored, indeed, that when the 
sheriff went to his office to arrest him as a felon, that sheriff 
blushed and apologized, and one of the illustrated papers 
made a picture of the scene and spoke of the matter in such a 
way as to show that the editor regretted that the offense of an 
arrest had been offered to so exalted a personage as Mr. Weed. 

Mr. O’Biley furnished shingle nails to the new Court 
House at three thousand dollars a keg, and eighteen gross of 
60-cent thermometers at fifteen hundred dollars a dozen ; the 
controller and the board of audit passed the bills, and a mayor, 
who was simply ignorant but not criminal, signed them. 
When they were paid, Mr. O’Biley’s admirers gave him a 
solitaire diamond pin of the size of a filbert, in imitation 
of the liberality of Mr. Weed’s friends, and then Mr. O’Biley 
retired from active service and amused himself with buying 
real estate at enormous figures and holding it in other peo¬ 
ple’s names. By and by the newspapers came out with ex¬ 
posures and called Weed and O’Biley ‘‘ thieves,”—whereupon 
the people rose as one man (voting repeatedly) and elected 
the two gentlemen to their proper theatre of action, the Hew 
York legislature. The newspapers clamored, and the courts 
proceeded to try the new legislators for their small irregu¬ 
larities. Our admirable jury system enabled the persecuted 
ex-officials to secure a jury of nine gentlemen from a 


304 THE HOIST. P. OREILLE VISITS EUROPE. 

neighboring asylum and three graduates from Sing-Sing, and 
presently they walked forth with characters vindicated. The 
legislature was called upon to spew them forth—a thing which 
the legislature declined to do. It was like asking children to 
repudiate their own father. It was a legislature of the 
modern pattern. 

Being now wealthy and distinguished, Mr. O’Biley, still 
bearing the legislative ‘‘Hon.” attached to his name (for 
titles never die in America, although we do take a republi¬ 
can pride in poking fun at such trifles), sailed for' Europe 
with his family. They traveled all about, turning their 
noses up at every thing, and not finding it a difficult thing 
to do, either, because nature had originally given those fea¬ 
tures a cast in that direction; and finally they established 
themselves in Paris, that Paradise of Americans of their 
sort.—They staid there two years and learned to speak Eng¬ 
lish with a foreign accent—not that it hadn’t always had a 
foreign accent (which was indeed the case) but now the 

nature of it was changed. 
Finally they returned home 
and became ultra fashion¬ 
ables. They landed here 
as the Hon. Patrique 
Oreille and family, and so 
are known unto this day. 

Laura provided seats for 
her visitors and they im¬ 
mediately launched forth 
into a breezy, sparkling 
conversation wdth that easy 
confidence which is to be 
found only among persons accustomed to high life. 

“Pve been intending to call sooner. Miss HawFins,” said 

the Hon. Mrs. Oreille, but the weather’s been so horrid._ 

How do you like W ashington ?” 

Laura liked it veiy well indeed. 




THE PARVENUS CONVERSE. 


305 


Mrs, Gashly —Is it jour first visit ? ” 

YeSj it was her first. 

All —“ Indeed ? ” 

Mrs. Oreille —‘‘ I’m afraid jou’ll despise the weather, Miss 
Hawkins. It’s perfectly awful. It always iso I tell Mr. 
Oreille I can’t and I won’t put up with any Such a climate. 
If we were obliged to do it, I wouldn’t mind it; but we are not 
obliged to, and so I don’t see the use of it. Sometimes its 
real pitiful the way the childern pine for Parry—don’t look 
so sad, Bridget, rrha chere —poor child, she can’t hear Parry 
mentioned without getting the blues.” 

Mrs. Gashly —‘‘Well I should think so, Mrs. Oreillo. A 
body Iwes in Paris, but a bod}" only stays here. I dote on 
Paris; I’d druther scrimp along on ten thousand dollars a 
year there, than suffer and worry here on a real decent 
income.” 

Miss Gashly — “Well then I wish you’d take us back, 
mother; I’m sure I hate this stoopid country enough, even 
if it is our dear native land.” 

Miss Emmeline Gashly —“What, and leave poor Johnny 
Peterson behind ? ” [An airy general laugh applauded this 
sally]. 

Miss Gashly —“ Sister, I should think you’d be ashamed 
of yourself! ” 

Miss Emmeline —“ Oh, you needn’t ruffle your feathers so. 
I was only joking. He don’t mean anything by coming to 
the house every evening—only comes to see mother. Of 
course that’s all! ” [General laughter]. 

Miss G. prettily confused —“ Emmeline, how can you! ” 

Mrs. G .^—“ Let your sister alone, Emmeline.—I never saw 
such a tease ! ” 

Mrs. Oreille —“ What lovely corals you have. Miss Hawk¬ 
ins ! Just look at them, Bridget, dear. I’ve a great pas¬ 
sion for corals—it’s a pity they’re getting a little common. 
I have some elegant ones—not as elegant as yours, though 
—but of course I don’t wear them now.” 

20 - 


806 HOW SOME RESPECTABLE PEOPLE REALLY LIVE. 

Laura —I suppose they are rather common, but still 1 
have a great affection for these, because they were given to 
me by a dear old friend of our family named Murphy. 
He was a very charming man, but very eccentric. We always 
supposed he was an Irishman, but after he got rich he went 
abroad for a year or two, and when he came back you would 
have been amused to see how^ interested he was in a potato. 
He asked what it was ! Now you know that when Provi¬ 
dence shapes a mouth especially for the accommodation of a 
potato you can detect that fact at a glance when that mouth 

is in repose—foreign travel 
can never remove that sign. 
But he was a very delight¬ 
ful gentleman, and his lit¬ 
tle foible did not hurt him 
at all We all have our 
shams—I suppose there is 
a sham somewhere about 
every individual, if we 
could manage to ferret it 
out. I would so like to 
go to France. I suppose 
our society here compares 
very favorably with French society does it not, Mrs. Oreille ? 

Mrs. 0 .—“Not by any means. Miss Hawddns 1 French 
society is much more elegant—much more so.” 

Laura —“ I am sorry to hear that. I suppose ours hag 
deteriorated of late.” 

Mrs. O .—“ Yery much indeed. There are people in soci¬ 
ety here that have really no more money to live on than 
what some of us pay for servant hire. Still I won’t say but 
what some of them are very good people—and respectable, 
too.” 

Laura —“ The old families seem to be holding themselves 
aloof, from what I hear. I suppose you seldom meet in soci¬ 
ety now, the people you used to be familiar with twelve or 
fifteen years ago f ’ 



AN UNMISTAKABLE POTATO MOUTH 


SERIOUS SUBJECTS DISCUSSED. 


301 


Mrs. O. —Oh, no—hardly ever.” 

Mr. O’Riley kept his first rum-mill and protected his cus¬ 
tomers from the law in those days, and this turn of the con¬ 
versation was rather uncomfortable to madame than other¬ 
wise. 

Hon. Mrs. Higgins —“Is Fran 9 ois’ health good now, Mrs. 
Oreille ?” 

Mrs. 0. — {Thankful for the intermntiori) —“R’ot very. 
A body couldn’t expect it. He was always delicate—especially 
his lungs—and this odious climate tells on him strong, now, 
after Parry, which is so mild.” 

Mrs. H. —“ I should think so. Husband says Percy’ll die 
if he don’t have a change ; and so I’m going to swap round a 
little and see what can be done. I saw a lady from Florida 
last week, and she recommended Key West. I told her 
Percy couldn’t abide winds, as he was threatened with a pul¬ 
monary affection, and then she said try St. Augustine. It’s 
an awful distance—ten or twelve hundred mile, they say— 
but then in a case of this kind a body can’t stand back for 
trouble, you know.” 

Mrs. 0. —“ Ho, of course that’s so. If Francois don’t get 
better soon we’ve got to look out for some other place, or else 
Europe. We’ve thought some of the Hot Springs, but I 
don’t know. It’s a great responsibility and a body wants to 
go cautious. Is Hildebrand about again, Mrs. Gashly ?” 

Mrs. G. —“ Yes, but that’s about all. It was indigestion, 
you know, and it looks as if it was chronic. And you know 
I do dread dyspepsia. We’ve all been worried a good deal 
about him. The doctor recommended baked apple and spoiled 
meat, and I think it done him good. It’s about the only 
thing that will stay on his stomach now-a-days. We have 
Dr. Shovel now. Who’s your doctor, Mrs. Higgins ?” 

Mrs. 11. —“Well, we had Dr. Spooner a good while, but 
he runs so much to emetics, which I think are weakening, 
that we changed off and took Dr. Leathers. We like him 
very much. He has a fine European reputation, too. The 


308 


A DREADFUL ACCIDENT. 


first thing he suggested for Percy was to have him taken out 
in the back yard for an airing, every afternoon, with nothing 
at all on.” 

Mrs.O. and Mrs, G. —“What!” 

Mrs. II .—“ As true as I’m sitting here. And it actually 
helped him for two or three days ; it did indeed. But after 
that the doctor said it seemed to be too severe and so he has 
fell back on hot foot-baths at night and cold showers in the 
morning. But I don’t think there can be any good sound 
help for him in such a climate as thk. I believe we are going 
to lose him if we don’t make a change.” 

Mrs. 0 .—“ I suppose you heard of the fright we had two 
weeks ago last Saturday ? Ho ? Why that is strange—but 
come to remember, you’ve all been away to Richmond. 
Fran 9 ois tumbled from the sky light in the second-story hall 
clean down to the first floor—” 

Everybody —“ Mercy 1” 

Mrs. 0 .—Yes indeed—and broke two of his ribs—” 

Everybody —“ What 1” 

Mrs. 0 .—“ Just as true as you live. First we thought he 
must be injured internally. It was fifteen minutes past 8 
in the evening. Of course we were all distracted in a moment 
—everybody was flying everywhere, and nobody doing any¬ 
thing worth anything. By and by I flung out next door and 
dragged in Dr. Sprague, President of the Medical University 
—no time to go for our own doctor of course—and the min¬ 
ute he saw Fran 9 ois he said, ‘ Send for your own physician, 
madam ’—said it as cross as a bear, too, and turned right on 
his heel and cleared out without doing a thing !” 

Everybody —“ The mean, contemptible brute 1” 

Mrs. O.—“ Well you may say it. I was nearly out of my 
wits by this time. But we hurried off the servants after our 
own doctor and telegraphed mother—she was in Hew York 
and rushed down on the first train ; and when the doctor got 
there, lo and behold you he found Fran 9 ois had broke one of 
his legs, too!” 

Everybody —“ Goodness I” 


EXHIBITION OF WOMANLY DEVOTION. 


309 


Mrs. 0 .—“ Yes. So lie set liis leg and bandaged it up, 
and fixed his ribs and gave him a dose of something to quiet 
down his excitement and put him to sleep— poor thing he 
was trembling and frightened to death and it was pitiful to 
see him. We had him in my bed—Mr. Oreille slept in the 
^uest room and I laid down beside Fran 9 ois—but not to sleep 
—bless you no. Bridget and I set up all night, and the doc¬ 
tor staid till two in the morning, bless his old heart.—When 
mother got there she was so used up with anxiety that she 
had to go to bed and have the doctor; but when she found 
that Fran9ois was not in immediate danger she rallied, and by 
night she was able to take a watch herself. Well for three 
days and nights w^e three never left that bedside only to take 
an hour’s nap at a time. And then the doctor said Fran 9 ois 
was out of danger and if ever there was a thankful set, in 
this w^orld, it was us.” 

Laura’s respect for these women had augmented during 
this conversation, naturally enough; afiection and devotion 
are qualities that are able to adorn and render beautiful a 
character that is otherwise unattractive, and even repulsive. 

Mrs. Gashly —“ I do believe I should a died if I had been 
in your place, Mrs. Oreille. The time Hildebrand was so 
low with the pneumonia Emmeline and me were all alone 
with him most of the time and we never took a minute’s 
sleep for as much as two days and nights. It was at New¬ 
port and we wouldn’t trust hired nurses. One afternoon he 
had a fit, and jumped up and run out on the portico of the 
hotel with nothing in the world on and the wind a blowing 
like ice and w^e after him scared to death; and when the 
ladies and gentlemen saw that he had a fit, every lady scat¬ 
tered for her room and not a gentleman lifted his hand to 
help, the wretches ! Well after that his life hung by a thread 
for as much as ten days, and the minute he was out of dan¬ 
ger Emmeline and me just went to bed sick and worn out. 
I never want to pass through such a time again. Poor dear 
Fx in9ois—which leg did he break, Mrs. Oreille ?” 


310 


THE PATIENTS. 


^rs. 0 .—“ It was liis right hand hind leg. Jump down, 
Fran 9 ois dear, and show the ladies what a cruel limp you’ve 
got yet.” 

rran 9 ois demurred, but being coaxed and delivered gently 
:ipon the floor, he performed very satisfactorily, with his 
‘‘ right hand hind leg ” in the air. All were affected—even 
Laura—but hers was an affection of the stomach. Tlie 
country-bred girl had not suspected that the little whim 
ing ten-ounce black and tan reptile, clad in a red em 



broidered pigmy blanket and reposing in Mrs. Oreille’s lap 
all through the visit was the individual whose sufteriugs 
had been stirring the dormant generosities of her nature. 
She said: 

“ Poor little creature ! You might have lost him ! ” 

Mrs. 0 .—O pray don’t mention it. Miss Hawkins—it 
gives me such a turn 1 ” 

Laura —“And Hildebrand and Percy—are they—are 
they like this one ? ” 

Mrs. G .—“ No, Hilly has considerable Skye blood in him, 
I believe.” 

Mrs. II .—“ Percy’s the same, only he is two months and 
ten days older and has his ears cropped.—His father, Martin 
Farquhar Tupper, was sickly, and died young, but he was 
































THE MIDDLE GilOUND ARISTOCRACY. 311 

the sweetest disposition.—His mother had heart disease but 
was very gentle and resigned, and a wonderful ratter.’’ * 

So carried away had the visitors become by their interest 
attaching to this discussion of family matters, that thieir stay 
had been prolonged to a very improper and unfashionable 
length; but they suddenly recollected themselves now and 
took their departure. 

Laura’s scorn was boundless. The more she thought of 
these people and their extraordinary talk, the more offen¬ 
sive they seemed to her; and yet she confessed that if one 
must choose between the two extreme aristocracies it might 
be best, on the whole, looking at things from a strictly busi¬ 
ness point of view, to herd with the Parvenus; she was in 
Washington solely to compass a certain matter and to do it 
at any cost, and these people might be useful to her, while it 
was plain that her purposes and her schemes for pushing 
them would not find favor in the eyes of the Antiques. If it 
came to choice—and it might come to that, sooner or later—■ 
she believed she could come to a decision without much 
difficulty or many pangs. 

But the best aristocracy of the three Washington castes, 
and really the most powerful, by far, was that of the Middle 
Ground. It was made up of the families of public men 
from nearly every state in the Union—men who held posi¬ 
tions in both the executive and legislative branches of the 
government, and whose characters had been for years blem¬ 
ishless, both at home and at the capital. These gentlemen 
and their households were unostentatious people; they were 
educated and refined; they troubled themselves but little 
about the two other orders of nobility, but moved serenely 
in their wide orbit, confident in their own strength and well 
aware of the potency of their influence. They had no 


* As impossible and exasperating as this conversation may sound to a person 
who is not an idiot, it is scarcely in any respect an exaggeration of one which one 
of us actually listened to in an American drawing room—otherwise we could 
not venture to put such a chapter into a book which professes to deal with 
social possibilities.— The Authors. 



312 


ABOUT LAURA’S UNRULY MEMBER. 


troublesome appearances to keep up, no rivalries which they 
cared to distress themselves about, no jealousies to fret over. 
They could afford to mind their own affairs and leave other 
combinations to do the same or do otherwise, just as they 
chose. They were people who were beyond reproach, and 
that was sufiiciento 

Senator Dilworthy never came into collision with any of 
these factions. He labored for them all and with them all. 
He said that all men were brethren and all were entitled to 
the honest unselfish help and countenance of a Christian 
laborer in the public vineyard. 

Laura concluded, after reflection, to let circumstances deter¬ 
mine the course it might be best for her to pursue as regarded 
the several aristocracies. 

How it might occur to the reader that perhaps Laura had 
been somewhat rudely suggestive in her remarks to Mrs. 
Oreille when the subject of corals was under discussion, but 
it did not occur to Laura herself. She was not a person of 
exaggerated refinement; indeed the society and the influences 
that had formed her character had not been of a nature 
calculated to make her so; she thought that ^‘give and take 
was fair play,” and that to parry an offensive thrust with a 
sarcasm was a neat and legitimate thing to do. She some¬ 
times talked to people in a way which some ladies would 
consider actually shocking; but Laura rather prided herself 
upon some of her exploits of that character. We are sorry 
we cannot make her a faultless heroine; but we cannot, for 
the reason that she was human. 

She considered herself a superior conversationist. Long 
ago, when the possibility had first been brought before her 
mind that some day she might move in Washington society, 
she had recognized the fact that practiced conversational 
powers would be a necessary weapon in that field ; she had 
also recognized the fact that since her dealings there must be 
mainly with men, and men whom she supposed to be excep¬ 
tionally cultivated and able, she would need heavier shot in 


PREPARATIONS EOR WAR. 


313 


her magazine than mere brilliant ‘‘society” nothings; where¬ 
upon she had at once entered upon a tireless and elaborate course 
of reading, and had never since ceased to devote every unoccu¬ 
pied moment to this sort of preparation. Having now 
acquired a happy smattering of various information, she used 
it with good effect—she passed for a singularly well informed 
woman in Washington. The quality of her literary tastes 
had necessarily undergone constant improvement under this 
regimen, and as necessarily, also, the quality of her language 
had improved, though it cannot be denied that now and then 
her former condition of life betrayed itself in just percepti¬ 
ble inelegancies of expression and lapses of grammar. 























































































CHAPTER XXXIY. 

Eet Jomfru Haar drager staerkere end ti Par Oxen. 


HEX Laura had been in Washington three months, 



1 T she was still the same person, in one respect, that she 
was w^hen she first arrived there—that is to say, she still bore 
the name of Laura Hawkins. Otherwise she was perceptibly 
changed.— 

She had arrived in a state of grievous uncertainty as to 
what manner of woman she was, physically and intellectually, 
as compared with eastern women ; she was well satisfied, now, 
that her beauty was confessed, her mind a grade above the 
average, and her powers of fascination rather extraordinary. 
So she was at ease upon those points. When she arrived, 
she was posessed of habits of economy and not possessed of 
money; now she dressed elaborately, gave but little thought 
to the cost of things, and was very well fortified financially.— 
She kept her motlier and Washington freely supplied with 
money, and did the same by Col. Sellers—wdio always insisted 
upon giving his note for loans—with interest; he was rigid 
upon that; she must take interest; and one of the Colonel’s 
greatest satisfactions was to go over his accounts and note 
what a handsome sum this accruing interest amounted to, 
and what a comfortable though modest support it would yield 
Laura in case reverses should overtake her. In truth he 
could not help feeling that he was an efficient shield for her 
against poverty ; and so, if her expensive ways ever troubled 
him for a brief moment, he presently dismissed the thought 
and said to himself, “Let her go on—even if she loses 


314 


RUMORS OF LAURA’S VAST WEALTH. 


315 


everything she is still safe—this interest will always afford har 
a good easy income.” 

Laura was on excellent terms with a great many members 
of Congress, and there was an undercurrent of suspicion in 
some quarters that she was one of that detested class known 
as “ lobbyistsbut what belle could escape slander in such a 
city ? Fair-minded people declined to condemn her on mere 
suspicion, and so the injurious talk made no very damaging 
headway. She was very gay, now, and very celebrated, and 
she might well expect to be assailed by many kinds of gossip. 
She was growing used to celebrity, and could already sit calm 
and seemingly unconscious, under the fire of fifty lorgnettes 
in a theatre, or even overhear the low voice ‘‘ That’s she!” as 
she passed along the street without betraying annoyance. 

The whole air was full of a vague vast scheme which was 
to eventuate in filling Laura’s pockets with millions of money ; 
some had one idea of the scheme, and some another, but 
nobody had any exact knowledge upon the subject. Alt that 
any one felt sure about, was that Laura’s landed estates were 
princely in value and extent, and that the government was 
anxious to get hold of them for public purposes, and that 
Laura was willing to make the sale but not at all anxious 
about the matter and not at all in a hurry. It was whispered 
that Senator Dilworthy was a stumbling block in the way of 
an immediate sale, because he was resolved that the govern¬ 
ment should not have the lands except with the understand¬ 
ing that they should be devoted to the uplifting of the 
negro race; Laura did not care what they were devoted to, it 
was said, (a world of very different gossip to the contrary not¬ 
withstanding,) but there were several other heirs and they 
would be guided entirely by the Senator’s wishes; and 
finally, many people averred that while it would be easy to 
sell the lands to the government for the benefit of the negro, 
by resorting to the usual methods of influencing votes, 
Senator Dilworthy was unwilling to have so noble a charity 
sullied by any taint of corruption—he was resolved that not 
a vote should be bought. Nobody could get anything 
definite from Laura about these matters, and so gossip had 


516 LAURA’S REVENGE AND WASHINGTON’S INNOCENCE 

to feed itself chiefly upon guesses. But the effect of it all 
was, that Laura was considered to be very wealthy and 
likely to be vastly more so in a little while. Consequently 
she was much courted and as much envied. Her wealth 
attracted many suitors. Perhaps they came to worship her 
riches, but they remained to worship her. Some of the 
noblest men of the time succumbed to her fascinations. 
She frowned upon no lover when he made his first advances, 
but by and by when he was hopelessly enthralled, he learned 
from her own lips that she had formed a resolution never to 
marry. Then he would go away hating and cursing the 
whole sex, and she would calmly add his scalp to her string, 
while she mused upon the bitter day that Col. Selby trampled 
her love and her pride in the dust. In time it came to be 
said that her way w^as paved with broken hearts. 

Poor Washington gradually woke up to the fact that he too 
was an intellectual marvel as well as his gifted sister. He 
could not conceive how it had come about (it did not occur 
to him that the gossip about his family’s great wealth had 
anything to do with it). He could not account for it by any 
process of reasoning, and was simply obliged to accept the 
fact and give up trying to solve the riddle. He found him¬ 
self dragged into society and courted, wondered at and envied 
very much as if he were one of those foreign barbers who 
flit over here now and then with a self-conferred title of 
nobility and marry some rich fool’s absurd daughter. Some¬ 
times at a dinner party or a reception he would find himself 
the centre of interest, and feel unutterably uncomfortable in 
the discovery. Being obliged to say something, he would 
mine his brain and put in a blast and when the smoke and 
flying debris had cleared away the result would be what 
seemed to him but a poor little intellectual clod of dirt or 
two, and tlien he would be astonished to see everybody as 
lost in admiration as if he had brought up a ton or two of 
virgin gold. Every remark he made delighted his hearers 
and compelled their applause; he overheard people say he 
was exceedingly bright—they were chiefly mammas and 
marriageable young ladies. He found that some of his good 



WASHINGTON FINDS HIMSELF FAMOUS. 3 IT 

things were being repeated about the town. 'Whenever ho 
heard of an instance of this kind, he would keep that partic¬ 
ular remark in mind and analyze it at home in private. At 
first he could not see that the remark was anything better 
than a parrot might originate; but by and by he began to 
feel that perhaps he underrated his powers; and after that 
he used to analyze his good things with a deal of comfort, 
and find in them a brilliancy which would have been unap- 
parent to him in earlier days—and then he would make a note 
of that good thing and say it again the first time he found him¬ 
self in a new company. Presently he had saved up quite a 
repertoire of brilliancies; and after that he confined himself 


to repeating these and ceased to originate any more, lest he 
might injure his reputation by an unlucky effort. 

He was constantly having young ladies thrust upon liis 
notice at receptions, or left upon his hands at parties, and ip 


DELIBERATE PERSECUTION. 
















318 


WASHINGTON SEEKS LIGHT. 


time lie began to feel that he was being deliberately persecu¬ 
ted in this way; and after that he could not enjoy society 
because of his constant dread of these female ambushes and sur¬ 
prises. He was distressed to find that nearly every time he 
showed a young lady a polite attention he was straightway 
reported to be engaged to her ; and as some of these reports 
got into the newspapers occasionally, he had to keep wndting 
to Louise that they were lies and she must believe in him and 
not mind them or allow them to grieve her. 

Washington was as much in the dark as anybody with 
regard to the great wealth that was hovering in the air and 
seemingly on the point of tumbling into the family pocket. 
Laura would give him no satisfaction. All she would say, 
was: 

‘AYait. Be patient. You will see.” 

“ But will it be soon, Laura ?” 

‘‘ It will not be very long, I think.’ 

“ But what makes you think so ?” 

I have reasons—and good ones. Just wait, and be 
patient.” 

But is it going to be as much as people say it is 

“ What do they say it is ?” 

Oh, ever so much. Millions!” 

“ Yes, it will be a great sum.” 

But how great, Laura ? Will it be millions ?” 

“Yes, you may call it that. Yes, it loill be millions. 
There, now—does that satisfy you ?” 

“ Splendid! I can wait. I can wait patiently—ever so 
patiently. Once I was near selling the land for twenty thou¬ 
sand dollars; once for thirty thousand dollars ; once after that 
for seven thousand dollars; and once for forty thousand 
dollars—but something always told me not to do it. What 
a fool I would have been to sell it for such a beggarly trifle! 
It is the land that’s to bring the money, isn’t it Laura? You 
can tell me that much, can’t you ?” 

“ Yes,, I don’t mind saying that much. It is the lane.. 


CASTLES IN THE AIR. 


319 


But mind—don’t ever Lint that yon got it from me. Don’t 
mention me in the matter at all, Washington.” 

“ All right—I won’t. Millions ! Isn’t it splendid ! I mean 
to look around for a building lot; a lot with fine ornamental 
shrubbery and all that sort of thing. I will do it to-day. 
And I might as well see an architect, too, and get him cro 
to work at a plan for a house. I don’t intend to spare and 
expense; I mean to have the noblest house that money can 
build.” Then after a pause—he did not notice Laura’s smiles 
—“ Laura, would you lay the main hall in encaustic tiles, or 
just in fancy patterns of hard wood ?” 

Laura laughed a good old-fashioned laugh that had more of 
her former natural self about it than any sound that had 
issued from her mouth in many weeks. She said: 

‘‘ You don’t change, Washington. You still begin to 
squander a fortune right and left the instant you hear of 
it in the distance; you never wait till the foremost dollar of 
it arrives within a hundred miles of you,”—and she kissed 
her brother good bye and left him weltering in his dreams, 
so to speak. 

He got up and walked the fioor feverishly during two 
hours; and when he sat down he had married Louise, built a 
house, reared a family, married them off, spent upwards of 
eight hundred thousand dollars on mere luxuries, and died 
worth twelve millions. 


CHAPTER XXXY. 



AURA went down stairs, knocked at tlie study door, 



J-i and entered, scarcely waiting for the response. Senator 
Dilworthy was alone—with an open Bible in his hand, upside 
down. Laura smiled, and said, forgetting her acquired cor¬ 
rectness of speech, 

‘‘ It is only me.” 

“Ah, come in, sit down,” and the Senator closed the 
book and laid it down. “ I wanted to see you. Time lO 
report progress from the committee of the whole,” and the 
•Senator beamed with his own congressional wit. 

“ In the committee of the whole things are working very 
well. AVe have made ever so much progress in a week. I 
believe that you and I together could run this government 
beautifully, uncle.” 

The Senator beamed again. He liked to be called “ uncle ” 
by this beautiful woman. 

“ Did you see Hopperson last night after the congressional 
prayer meeting ? ” 

“ Yes. He came. He’s a kind of—” 

“Eh? he is one of my friends, Laura. He’s a fine man, & 


32q 



ONE OF THE SENATOR’S FRIENDS. 


321 


very fine man. 1 don’t know any man in congress I’d 
sooner go to for help in any Christian work. What did he 
say ? ” 

“ Oh, he beat around a little. He said he should like to 
help the negro, his heart went out to the negro, and all that 
--plenty of them say that—hut he was a little afraid of the 



IT IS ONLY ME.” 


Tennessee Land bill; if Senator Dilworthy wasn’t in it, 
should suspect there was a fraud on the government.” 

“ He said that, did he ? ” 

“Yes. And he said he felt he couldn’t vote for it. He 
was shy.” 

“ Hot shy, child, cautious. He’s a very cautious man. 1 
have been with him a great deal on conference committees. 
He wants reasons, good ones Didn’t you show him he was 
in error about the bill 2 ” 

21- 






322 


THE SENATOR’S CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLES. 


‘‘I did. I went over the whole thing. I had to tell him 
some of the side arrangements, some of the—” 

‘‘You didn’t mention me ? ” 

“ Oh, no. I told him you were daft about the negro and 
the philanthropy part of it, as you are.” 

“ Daft is a little strong, Laura. But you know that I 
wouldn’t touch this bill if it were not for the public good, 
and for the good of the colored race, much as I am interested 
in the heirs of this property, and would like to have them 
succeed.” 

Laura looked a little incredulous, and the Senator pro¬ 
ceeded. 

“ Don’t misunderstand me^ Laura. I don’t deny that it is 
for the interest of all of us that this bill should go through, 
and it will. I have no concealments from you. But I have 
one principle in my public life, which I should like you to 
keep in mind; it has always been my guide. I never push a 
private interest if it is not justified and ennobled by some 
larger public good. I doubt if a Christian would be justified 
in working for his own salvation if it was not to aid in th® 
salvation of his fellow men.” 

The Senator spoke with feeling, and then added, 

“ I hope you showed Hopperson that our motives were 
pure ? ” 

“ Yes, and he seemed to have a new light on the measure. 
I think he will vote for it.” 

“ I hope so; his name will give tone and strength to it. I 
knew you would only have to show him that it was just and 
pure, in order to secure his cordial support.” 

“I think I convinced him. Yes, 1 am perfectly sure he 
will vote right now.” 

“ That’s good, that’s good,” said the Senator, smiling, and 
rubbing his hands. “Is there anything more?” 

“ You’ll find some changes in that I guess,” handing the 
Senator a printed list of names. “ Those checked ofi are 
all right.” 

“ Ah—’m—’m,” running his eye down the list. “ That’s 


THE SENATOR APPRECIATES A JOKE. 


323 


encouraging. What is the ‘ 0 ’ before some of the names, 
and the ‘ B. B.’ ? ” 

“ Those are my private marks. That ‘ C ’ stands for ‘ con¬ 
vinced,’ with argument. The ‘ B. B.’ is a general sign for 
a relative. You see it stands before three of the Hon. Com¬ 
mittee. I expect to see the chairman of the committee 
to-day, Mr. Buckstone.” 

‘‘ So you must, he ought to be seen without any delay. 
Buckstone is a worldly sort of a fellow, but he has charitable 
impulses. If we secure him we shall have a favorable report 
by the committee, and it will be a great thing to be able to 
etate that fact quietly where it will do good.” 

Oh, I saw Senator Balloon.” 

“ He will help us, I suppose ? Balloon is a whole-hearted 
fellow. I can’t help loving that man, for all his drollery 
and waggishness. He puts on an air of levity sometimes, 
but there aint a man in the senate knows the scriptures as 
he does. He did not make any objections ? ” 

‘‘Hot exactly, he said—shall I tell you what he said2” 
asked Laura glancing furtively at him. 

“ Certainly.” 

“ He said he had no doubt it was a good thing; if Senator 
Dilworthy was in it, it would pay to look into it.” 

The Senator laughed, but rather feebly, and said, “Balloon 
is always full of his jokes.” 

“I explained it to him. He said it was all right, he only 
wanted a word with you,” continued Laura. “ He is a hand¬ 
some old gentleman, and he is gallant for an old man.” 

“ My daughter,” said the Senator, with a grave look, “ I 
trust there was nothing free in his manner ? ” 

“Free?” repeated Laura, with indignation in her face. 
“ With me! 

“ There, there, child. I meant nothing. Balloon talks a 
little freely sometimes, with men. But he is right at heart. 
His term expires next year and I fear we shall lose him.” 

“He seemed to be packing the day I was there. His 


324 


ONE OF A SENATOR’S PRIVILEGES. 


rooms were full of dry goods boxes, into wliicli bis servant 
was crowding all manner of old clothes and stuff. I suppose 



“all congressmen do that.” 


he will paint ‘ Pub. Docs ’ on them and frank them liome. 
That’s good economy, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, but child, all Congressmen do that. It may 
not be strictly honest, indeed it is not unless he had some 
public documents mixed in with the clothes.” 

“ It’s a funny world. Good-bye, uncle. I’m going to see 
that chairman.” 

And humming a cheery opera air, she departed to her 
room to dress for going out. Before she did that, however, 
she took out her note book and was soon deep in its contents, 
marking, dashing, erasing, figuring, and talking to herself. 

“ Free ! I wonder what Dilworth}^ does think of me anyway ? 
One ... two... eight... seventeen ... twenty-one,.. .’m’m ... 
it takes a heap for a majority. Wouldn't Dilworthy open 
his eyes if he knew some of the things Balloon did say to me. 
There.... Iloj^person’s influence ought to count twenty.... 






























NEWSPAPER ROW. 


325 


the sanctimonious old curmudgeon. Son-in-law.... sinecure 

in the negn; institution.. .. .That about gauges him . 

The three committeemen.... sons-in-law. Nothing like a 
son-in-law here in Washington.... or a brother-in-law.... 

And everybody has ’em.Let’s see .... sixty-one.... with 

places ;.... twenty-five... persuaded—it is getting on;.... 

we’ll have two-thirds of Congress in time.Dilworthy 

must surely know I understand him. Uncle Dilworthy.... 
Uncle Balloon !... Tells very amusing stories.... when 
ladies are not present.... I should think so....’m... ’ra. 

Eighty-five-There. I must find that chairman. Queer 

.... Buckstone acts.Seemed to be in love.I was 

sure of it. He promised to come here.... and he hasn’t.... 
Strange. Yery strange_I must chance to meet him to-day.” 

Laura dressed and went out, thinking she was perhaps too 
early for Mr. Buckstone to come from the house, but as he 
lodged near the bookstore she would drop in there and keep 
a look out for him. 

While Laura is on her errand to find Mr. Buckstone, it may 
not be out of the way to remark that she knew quite as much 
of Washington life as Senator Dilworthy gave her credit for, 
and more than she thought proper to tell him. She was 
acquainted by this time with a good many of the young fel¬ 
lows of Newspaper Bow, and exchanged gossip with them to 
their mutual advantage. 

They were always talking in the Bow, everlastingly gos¬ 
siping, bantering and sarcastically praising things, and going 
on in a style which was a curious commingling of earnest 
and persiflage. Col. Sellers liked this talk amazingly, though 
he was sometimes a little at sea in it—and perhaps that didn’t 
lessen the relish of the conversation to the correspondents. 

It seems that they had got hold of the dry-goods box pack¬ 
ing story about Balloon, one day, and were talking it over 
when the Colonel came in. The Colonel wanted to know all 
about it, and Hicks told him. And then Hicks went on, with 
a serious air, 

‘‘ Colonel, if you register a letter, it means that it is of 








326 


DULLNESS OF ANCIENT STATESMEN. 


value, doesn’t it ? And if you pay fifteen cents for registering 
it, the government will have to take extra care of it and even 
pay you back its full value if it is lost. Isn’t that so 
“ Yes. I suppose it’s so.” 

Well Senator Balloon put fifteen cents worth of stamps 
on each of those seven huge boxes of old clothes, and shipped 
that ton of second-hand rubbish, old boots and pantaloons 
and what not through the mails as registered matter ! It was 
an ingenious thing and it had a genuine touch of humor about 
it, too. I think there is more real talent among our public men 
of to-day than there was among those of old times—a far more 
fertile fancy, a much happier ingenuity. Now, Colonel, can 
you picture Jefferson, or Washington or John Adams franking 



their wardrobes through the mails and adding the facetious 
idea of making the government responsible for the cargo for 
the sum of one dollar and five cents ? Statesmen were dull 
creatures in those days. I have a much greater admiration 
for Senator Balloon.” 

“ Yes, Balloon is a man of parts, there is no denying it.” 




























SHARPNESS OF SENATOR BALLOON. 


327 


1 think so. He is spoken of for the post of Minister to 
China, or Austria, and I hope will be appointed. What we 
want abroad is good examples of the national character. 



COL. SELLERS ENLIGHTENING THE BOHEMIANS. 


John Jay and Benjamin Franklin were well enough in their 
day, but the nation has made progress since then. Balloon is 
a man we know and can depend on to be true to—himself.” 

“Yes, and Balloon has had a good deal of public experi¬ 
ence. He is an old friend of mine. He was governor of one 
of the territories a while, and was very satisfactory.” 

“ Indeed he was. He was ex-officio Indian agent, too. 
Many a man would have taken the Indian appropriation and 
devoted the money to feeding and clothing the helpless sav¬ 
ages, whose land had been taken from them by the white 
man in the interests of civilization ; but Balloon knew their 
needs better. He built a government saw-mill on the reser¬ 
vation with the money, and the lumber sold for enormous 
prices—a relative of his did all the work free of charge—that is 






















328 


A PLEA FOR BRIBERY. 


to say he charged nothing more than the lumber would bring."’ 

“But the poor Injuns—not that I care much for Injuns— 
what did he do for them f ’ 

“ Gave them the outside slabs to fence in the reservation 
with. Governor Balloon was nothing less than a father to 
the poor Indians. But Balloon is not alone, we have many 
truly noble statesmen in our country’s service like Balloon. 
The Senate is full of them. Don’t you think so Colonel?” 

“ Well, I dunno. I honor my country’s public servants 
as much as any one can. I meet them, Sir, every day, and 
the more I see of them the more I esteem them and the more 
grateful I am that our institutions give us the opportunity of 
securing their services. Few lands are so blest.” 

“ That is true. Colonel. To be sure you can buy now and 
then a Senator or a Representative; but they do not know it 
is wrong, and so they are not ashamed of it. They are gen¬ 
tle, and confiding and childlike, and in my opinion these are 
qualities that ennoble them far more than any amount of sin¬ 
ful sagacity could. I quite agree with you. Col. Sellers.” 

“Well”—hesitated the Colonel—“I am afraid some of 
them do buy their seats—yes, I am afraid they do—but as Sen¬ 
ator Dilworthy himself said to me, it is sinful,—it is very 
wrong—it is shameful; Heaven protect me from such a charge. 
That is what Dilworthy said. And yet when you come to 
look at it you cannot deny that we would have to go with¬ 
out the services of some of our ablest men, sir, if the country 
were opposed to—to—bribery. It is a harsh term. I do not 
like to use it.” 

The Colonel interrupted himself at this point to meet an 
engagement with the Austrian minister, and took his leave 
with his usual courtly bow. 


P 1 M 


I 










I 


I 




t 



1 


* 

t 


t 


t 

f 

c 




1 ^ 


» 




I 




• 9 - 
♦ _ 
' *• 


/ 


I 


I 

r 


>**■ 




■9 


rw 

< • '• 




•« 


» ' 

<. 


4 



t. 


I ' 


> 


>« 

i 

* 

i 


V 


* 




t 






# 


♦ » 




f 

i 

I 

! 


■ 


< 

** 


I 


4 


« 




> 



1 



I 










A 


LAURA’S VISIT TO THE BOOK STORE 



























































































































































































































































































CHAPTER XXXYI. 


•*Batainadon nin-masinaiganan, kakina gaie onijishinon.”-“Missawa onijish- 

ioing kakina o masinaiganan, kawin gwetch o-wabandausinan.” 


L}^^SfEJ<3S&r 


Baraga^ 


I X due time Laura alighted at the book store, and began to 
look at the titles of the handsome array of books on the 
counter. A dapper clerk of perhaps nineteen or twenty 
years, with hair accurately parted and surprisingly slick, 
came bustling up and leaned over with a pretty smile and an 
affable— 

‘‘ Can I—was there any particular book you wished to see ? ” 
“ Have you Taine’s England ? ” 

‘‘ Beg pardon ? ” 

^ Taine’s Notes on England.” 

The young gentleman scratched the side of his nose with 
a cedar pencil which he took down from its bracket on the 
side of his head, and reflected a moment: 

Ah—I see,” [with a bright smile]—“ Train, you mean— 
not Taine. George Francis Train. No, ma’m we— 

“ I mean Taine —if I may take the liberty.” 

The clerk reflected again—then: 

“ Taine .... Taine .... Is it hymns ? ” 

‘‘No, it isn’t hymns. It is a volume that is making a deal 
of talk just now, and is very widely known—except among 
parties who sell it.” 

The clerk glanced at her face to see if a sarcasm might 

829 


330 


AN ENTERPRISING BOOK-SELLER. 


not lurk somewhere in that obscure speech, but the gentle 
simplicity of the beautiful eyes that met his, banished that 
suspicion. He went away and conferred with the proprietor. 
Both appeared to be nonplussed. They thought and talked, 
and talked and thought by turns. Then both came forward 
and the proprietor said: 

“ Is it an American book, ma’m ? ” 

“Ho, it is an American reprint of an English translation.” 

“ Oh! Yes—yes—I remember, now. We are expecting it 
every day. It isn’t out yet.” 

“ I think you must be mistaken, because you advertised it 
a week ago.” 

“ Why no—can that be so ? ” 

“ Yes, I am sure of it. And besides, here is the book 
itself, on the counter.” 

She bought it and the proprietor retired from the field. 
Then she asked the clerk for the Autocrat of the Breakfast 
Table—and was pained to see the admiration her beauty had 
inspired in him fade out of his face. He said with cold 
dignity, that cook books were somewhat out of their line, but 
he would order it if she desired it. She said, no, never mind. 
Then she fell to conning the titles again, finding a delight ia 
the inspection of the Hawthornes, the Longfellows, the 
Tennysons, and other favorites of her idle hours. Meantime 
the clerk’s eyes were busy, and no doubt his admiration was 
returning again—or may be he was only gauging her prob¬ 
able literary tastes by some sagacious system of admeasure¬ 
ment known to his guild. How he began to “assist” 
her in making a selection; but his efforts met with no success 
—indeed they only annoyed her and unpleasant!}^ interrupted 
her meditations. Presently, while she was holding a copy 
of “ Yenetian Life” in her hand and running over a familiar 
passage here and there, the clerk said, briskly, snatching up 
a paper-covered volume and striking the counter a smart 
blow with it to dislodge the dust: 

“ How here is a work that we’ve sold a lot of. Everybody 
that’s read it likes it ”—and he intruded it under her nose; 


THE BOOK STORE ANNOYANCE. 


331 


a book that I can recommend—‘ The Pirate’s Doom, or 
the Last of the Buccaneers.’ I think it’s one of the best 
things that’s come out this season.” 

Laura pushed it gently aside with her hand and went on 
filching from “Venetian Life.” 

“ I believe I do not want it,” she said. 

The clerk hunted around awhile, glancing at one title and 
then another, but apparently not finding what he wanted.. 
However, he succeeded at last. Said he: 

“ Have you ever read this, ma’m ? I am sure you’ll like it. 
It’s by the author of ‘ The Hooligans of Hackensack.’ It is 
full of love troubles and mysteries and all sorts of such things. 
The heroine strangles her own mother. Just glance at the 
title please,—‘ Gonderil the Vampire, or The Dance of Death.’ 
And here is ‘ The Jokist’s Own Treasury, or. The Phunny 
Phellow’s Bosom Phriend.’ The funniest thing !—I’ve read 
it four times, ma’m, and I can laugh at the very sight of it 
yet. And ^ Gonderil,’—I assure you it is the most splendid 
book I ever read. I know you will like these books, ma’m, 
because I’ve read them myself and I know what they are.” 

“ Oh, I was perplexed—but I see how it is, now. You 
must have thought I asked you to tell me what sort of books 
I wanted—for I am apt to say things which I don’t really 
mean, when I am absent minded. I suppose I did ask you, 
didn’t I?” 

“Ho ma’m,—but I—” 

“ Yes, I must have done it, else you would not have 
offered your services, for fear it might be rude. But don’t 
be troubled—it was all my fault. I ought not to have been 
so heedless—I ought not to have asked you.” 

“ But you didn’t ask me, ma’m. We always help custom¬ 
ers all we can. You see our experience—living right among 
books all the time—that sort of thing makes lis able to help 
a customer make a selection, you know.” 

“ How does it, indeed ? It is part of your business, then 

“ Yes’m, we always help.” 

“ How good it is of you. Some people would think it 


332 


A HALF HOUR’S AMUSEMENT. 


ratlier obtrusive, perhaps, but I don’t—I tliink it is real kind¬ 
ness—even charity. Some people jump to conclusions with¬ 
out any thought—you have noticed that 

“ O yes,” said the clerk, a little perplexed as to wdietlier to 
feel comfortable or the reverse ; “ oh yes, indeed, I’ve often 
noticed that, ma’m.” 

Yes, they jump to conclusions with an absurd heedless¬ 
ness. How some people would think it odd that because 
you, with the budding tastes and the innocent enthusiasms 
natural to your time of life, enjoyed the Yampires and the 
volume of nursery jokes, you should imagine that an older 
person would delight in them too—but I do not think it odd 
at all. I think it natural—perfectly natural—in you. And 
kind, too. You look like a person who not only finds a deep 
pleasure in any little thing in the way of literature that strikes 
you forcibly, but is willing and glad to share that pleasure 
with others—and that, I think, is noble and admirable—very 
noble and admirable. I think we ought all to share our 
pleasures with others, and do what w^e can to make each other 
happy, do not you ?” 

“ Oh, yes. Oh, yes, indeed. Yes, you are quite right, 
ma’m.” 

But he was getting unmistakably uncomfortable, now, not¬ 
withstanding Laura’s confiding sociability and almost aftec- 
tionate tone. 

•‘Yes, indeed. Many people would think that what a 
bookseller—or perhaps his clerk—knows about literature as 
literature, in contradistinction to its character as merchandise, 
would hardly be of much assistance to a person—that is, to 
an adult, of course—in the selection of food for the mind— 
except of course wrapping paper, or twine, or wafers, or 
something like that—but I never feel that way. I feel that 
whatever service you offer me, you offer with a good heart, 
and I am as grateful for it as if it were the greatest 
boon to me. And it is useful to me—it is bound to be so.— 
It cannot be otherwise. If you show me a book which you 
have read—not skimmed over or merely glanced at, but read 


A TORRENT OF KIND WORDS. 


333 


—and yon tell me that you enjoyed it and that you could 
read it three or four times, then I know what book I want—” 

“ Thank you !—th—’’ 

—“to avoid. Yes indeed. I think that no information 
ever comes amiss in tliis world. Once or twice I have trav¬ 
eled in the cars—and there you know, the peanut hoy always 
measures you with his eye, and hands you out a book of mur¬ 
ders if you are fond of theology; or Tnpper or a dictionary 
or T, S. Arthur if you are fond of poetry ; or he hands you 
a volume of distressing jokes or a copy of the American Mis¬ 
cellany if you particularly dislike that sort of literary fatty 
degeneration of the heart—just for the world like a pleasant- 
spoken well-meaning gentleman in any bookstore—. But 
here I am running on as if business men had nothing to do 
but listen to women talk. You must pardon me, for I was 
not thinking.—And you must let me thank you again for 
helping me. 1 read a good deal, and shall be in nearly every 
day ; and I would be sorry to have you think me a customei 



VERY AGREEABLE. 


who talks too much and buys too little. Might I ask you 
to give me the time? Ah—two—twenty-two. Thank you 
very much. 1 will set mine while I have the opportunity.” 

















334 


COMPLETELY CAPTIVATED. 


But she could not get her watch open, apparently. She 
tried, and tried again. Then the clerk, trembling at his own 
audacity, begged to be allowed to assist. She allowed him. 
He succeeded, and was radiant under the sweet influences of 
her pleased face and her seductively worded acknowledge¬ 
ments with gratiflcation. Then he gave her the exact time 
again, and anxiously watched her turn the hands slowly till 
they reached the precise spot without accident or loss of life, 
and then he looked as happy as a man who had helped a fel¬ 
low being through a momentous undertaking, and was grate¬ 
ful to know that he had not lived in vain. Laura thanked 
him once more. The words were music to his ear; but what 
were thej^ compared to the ravishing smile with which she 
flooded his whole system ? When she bowed her adieu and 
turned away, he was no longer suffering torture in the pil¬ 
lory where she had had him trussed up during so many dis¬ 
tressing moments, but he belonged to the list of her conquests 
and was a flattered and happy thrall, with the dawn-light of 
love breaking over the eastern elevations of his heart. 

It was about the hour, now, for the chairman of the House 
Committee on Benevolent Appropriations to make his appear¬ 
ance, and Laura stepped to the door to reconnoitre. She 
glanced up the street, and sure enough— 


CHAPTER XXXVn. 


^ eISw -IIT^ h 

Usa ogu’ arte la donna, onde sia c6lto 
Nella sua rete alcun novello amante; 

N6 con tutti, n6 sempre un stesso volto 
Serba, ma cangia a tempo atti e sembiante. 

Tasso. 

T hat chairman was nowhere in sight. Such disappoint¬ 
ments seldom occur in novels, but are always happening 
in real life. 

She was obliged to make a new plan. She sent hi?n a 
note, and asked him to call in the evening—which he did. 

She received the Hon. Mr. Buckstone with a sunny smile, 
and said; 

‘‘ I don’t know how I ever dared to send you a note, Mr. 
Buckstone, for you have the reputation of not being very 
partial to our sex.” 

“Why I am sure my reputation does me wrong, then, 
Miss Hawkins. I have been married once—is that nothing 
in my favor ? ” 

“ Oh, yes—that is, it may be and it may not be. If you 
have known what perfection is in woman, it is fair to argue 
that inferiority cannot interest you now.” 

“ Even if that were the case it could not affect you^ Miss 
Hawkins,” said the chairman gallantly. “Fame does not 

335 


336 A VISIT FROM REPRESENTATIVE BUCKSTONE. 


place you in the list of ladies who rank below perfection.” 

This happy speech delighted Mr. Buckstone as much as it 
seemed to delight Laura. But it did not confuse him as 
much as it apparently did her. 

“ I wish ill all sincerity that I could be worthy of such x 
felicitous compliment as that. But I am a woman, and so I 
am gratified for it just as it is, and would not have it altered.” 

“But it .is not merely a compliment—that is, an empty 
compliment—it is the truth. All men will endorse that.” 

Laura looked pleased, and said: 

“ It is very kind of you to say it. It is a distinction indeed, 
for a country-bred girl like me to be so spoken of by people 
of brains and culture. You are so kind that I know you 
will pardon my putting you to the trouble to come this even¬ 
ing.” 

“Indeed it was no trouble. It was a pleasure. I am 
alone in the world since I lost my wife, and I often long for 
the society of your sex. Miss Hawkins, notwithstanding what 
people may say to the contrary.” 

“ It is pleasant to hear you say that. I am sure it must be 
so. If I feel lonely at times, because of my exile from old 
friends, although surrounded by new ones who are already 
very dear to me, how much more lonely must you feel, bereft 
as you are, and with no wholesome relief from the cares of 
state that weigh you down. For your own sake, as well as 
for the sake of others, you ought to go into society oftener. 
I seldom see you at a reception, and when I do you do not 
usually give me very much of your attention.” 

“I never imagined that you wished it or I would have 
been very glad to make myself happy in that way.—But one 
seldom gets an opportunity to say more than a sentence to 
you in a place like that. You are always the centre of a 
group—a fact which you may have noticed yourself. But if 
one might come here—” 

“ Indeed you would always find a hearty welcome, Mr. 
Buckstone. I have often wished you would come and tell me 


COQUETTING BY EXPERIENCED HANDS. 


33T 


more about Cairo and the Pyramids, as you once promised 
me you would.” 

‘‘Why, do you remember that yet, Miss Hawkins? I 
thought ladies’ memories were more fickle than that.” 

“ Oh, they are not so fickle as gentlemen’s promises. And 
besides, if I had been inclined to forget, I—did you not give 
me something by way of a remembrancer ?” 

“Did I?” 

“ Think.” 

“ It does seem to me that I did ; but I have forgotten what 
it was now.” 

“ Never, never call a lady’s memory fickle again ! Do you 
recognize this ?” 

“ A little spray of box ! I am beaten—I surrender. But 
have you kept that all this time ?” 

Laura’s confusion was very pretty. She tried to hide it, 
but the more she tried the more manifest it became and withal 



the more captivating to look upon. Presentl}^ she threw the 
spray of box from her with an annoyed air, and said: 

“ I forgot myself. I have been very foolish. I beg that 
you will forget this absurd thing.” 

Mr. Buckstone picked up the spray, and sitting down by 
Laura’s side on the sofa, said: 

22- 









338 


A RESORT TO STRATEGY. 


“Please let me keep it. Miss Hawkins. I set a very high 
value upon it now.” 

“ Give it to me, Mr. Buckstone, and do not speak so. 1 
have been sufficiently punished for my thoughtlessness. You 
cannot take pleasure in adding to my distress. Please give 
it to me.” 

“ Indeed T do not wish to distress you. But do not con¬ 
sider the matter so gravely ; you have done yourself no wrong. 
You probably forgot that you had it; but if you had given it 
to 7ne I would have kept it—and not forgotten it.” 

“ Ho not talk so, Mr. Buckstone. Give it to me, please, 
and forget the matter.” 

“ It would not be kind to refuse, since it troubles you so, 
and so I restore it. But if you would give me part of it and 
keep the rest—” 

“ So that you might have something to remind you of me 
when you wished to laugh at my foolishness ?” 

“ Oh, by no means, no ! Simply that I might remember 
that I had once assisted to discomfort you, and be reminded 
to do so no more.” 

Laura looked up, and scanned his face a moment. She 
was about to break the twig, but she hesitated and said; 

“ If I were sure that you—” She threw the spray away, 
and continued: “ This is silly ! We will change the subject. 
Ho, do not insist—I must have my way in this.” 

Then Mr. Buckstone drew off his forces and proceeded to 
make a wily advance upon the fortress under cover of care¬ 
fully-contrived artifices and stratagems of war. But he con¬ 
tended with an alert and suspicious enemy; and so at the 
end of two hours it was manifest to him that he had made 
but little progress. Still, he had made some; he was sure 
of that. 

Laura sat alone and communed with herself; 

“ He is fairly hooked, poor thing. I can play him at my 
leisure and land him when I choose. He was all ready to 
be caught, days and days ago—I saw that, very well. He 


HOW EACH VIEWED THE SITUATION. 


33d 


will vote for our bill—no fear about that; and moreover be 
will work for it, too, before I am done with him. If he 
had a woman’s eyes he would have noticed that the spray of 
box had grown three inches since he first gave it to me, but 
a man never sees anything and never suspects. If I had 
shown him a wliole bush he would have thought it was the 
same. Well, it is a good night’s work: the committee is safe. 
But this is a desperate game I am playing in these days—a 
wearing, sordid, heartless game. If I lose, I lose everything 
—even myself. And if I win the game, will it be worth its 
cost after all ? I do not know. Sometimes I doubt. Some¬ 
times I half wish I had not begun. But no matter; I have 
begun, and I will never turn back; never while I live.” 

Mr. Buckstone indulged in a reverie as he walked home¬ 
ward : 

She is shrewd and deep, and plays her cards with consid¬ 
erable discretion—but she will lose, for all that. There is no 
hurry; I shall come out winner, all in good time. She is 
the most beautiful woman in the world; and she surpassed 
herself to-night. I suppose I must vote for that bill, in the 
end maybe; but that is not a matter of much consequence— 
the government can stand it. She is bent on capturing me, 
that is plain ; but she will find by and by that what she took 
for a sleeping garrison was an ambuscade.” 


CHAPTER XXXVTII. 


No\r this surprising news scaus’d her fall in a trance, 

Lif; as she were dead, no limbs she could advance, 

Then her dear brother came, her from the ground he tooK 
An she spake up and said, O my poor heart is broke. 

The Barnardcasde Tragedy, 



OX’T you think he is distinguished looking ? ” 

“What! That gawky looking person, with Miss Haw* 


kins 

“ There. He’s just speaking to Mrs. Schoonmaker. Such 
high-bred negligence and unconsciousness. Xothing studied. 
See his line eyes.” 

“Yery. They are moving this way now. Maybe he is 
coming here. But he looks as helpless as a rag baby. Who 
is he, Blanche ?” 

“ Who is he ? And you’ve been here a week, Grace, and 
don’t know? He’s the catch of the season. That’s Washing¬ 
ton Hawkins—her brother.” 


“ No, is it? ” 

“Yery old family, old Kentucky family I believe. He’s 
got enormous landed property in Tennessee, I think. The 
family lost everything, slaves and that sort of thing, you 
know, in the war. But they have a great deal of land, min¬ 
erals, mines and all that. Mr. Hawkins and his sister too are 
very much interested in the amelioration of the condition of 
the colored race; they have some plan, with Senator Dil- 
worthy, to convert a large part of their property to something 
another for the freedmen.” 

“You don’t say so? I thought he was some guy from 
Pennsylvania. Bat he is different from others. Probably 
he has lived all his life on his plantation.” 

340 


RECEPTION DAYS 


341 


It was a day reception of Mrs. Kepresentative Schoonmaker, 
a sweet woman, of simple and sincere manners. Her house was 
one of tlie most popular in W ashington. There was less ostenta¬ 
tion there than in some others, and people liked to go where the 
atmosphere reminded them of the peace and purity of home. 
Mrs. Schoon maker was as natural and unaffected in Washing¬ 
ton society as she was in her own Hew York house, and kept 
up the spirit of home-life there, with her husband and children. 
And that was the reason, probably, why people of refinement 
liked to go there. 

Washington is a microcosm, and one can suit himself with 
any sort of society within a radius of a mile. To a large 
portion of the people who frequent Washington or dwell 
there, the ultra fashion, the shoddy, the jobbery are as utterly 
distasteful as they would be in a refined Hew England City. 
Schoonmaker v^as not exactly a leader in the House, but he 
was greatly respected for his fine talents and his honesty. Ho 
one Avould have thought of offering to carry Hational Im¬ 
provement Directors Relief stock for him. 

These day receptions were attended by more women than 
men, and those interested in the problem might have studied 
the costumes of the ladies present, in view of this fact, to 
discover wdiether women dress more for the eyes of women 
or for effect upon men. It is a very important problem, and 
has been a good deal discussed, and its solution would form 
one fixed, philosophical basis, upon which to estimate woman’s 
character. We are inclined to take a medium ground, and 
aver that woman dresses to please herself, and in obedience 
to a law of her own nature. 

“ They are coming this way,” said Blanche. People who 
made way for them to pass, turned to look at them. Wash¬ 
ington began to feel that the eyes of the public were on him 
also, and his eyes rolled about, now towards the ceiling, now 
towards the floor, in an effort to look unconscious. 

Good morning. Miss Hawkins. Delighted. Mr. Haw¬ 
kins. My friend. Miss Medlar.” 

Mr. Hawkins, who was endeavoring to square himself for 


WASHINGTON HAWKINS AS A LION. 


842 


a bow, put his foot through the train of Mrs. Senator Poplin, 
who looked round with a scowl, which turned into a smile as 
she saw who it was. In extricating himself, Mr. Hawkins, 



SHE SAID “pardon.” 


who had the care of his hat as well as the introduction on his 
mind, shambled against Miss Blanche, who said with 

the prettiest accent, as if the awkwardness w^ere her own. 
And Mr. Hawkins righted himself. 

“ Don’t you find it very warm to-day, Mr. Hawkins said 
Blanche, by way of a remark. 

“ It’s awful hot,” said Washington. 

“ It’s warm for the season,” continued Blanche pleasantly. 

But I suppose you are accustomed to it,” she added, with a 
general idea that the thermometer alw^ays stands at 90® in all 
parts of the late slave states. “ Washington w^eather gener¬ 
ally cannot be very congenial to you ?” 

‘‘ It’s congenial,” said Washington brightening up, “ when 
it’s not congealed.” 

“ That’s very good. Did you hear, Grace, Mr. Hawkins 
says it’s congenial when it’s not congealed.” 









NATIONAL ATTAIRS INTELLIGENTLY DISCUSSED 343 

‘‘What is, dear?” said Grace, who was talking with 
Laura. 

The conversation was now finely underway. Washington 
launched out an observation of his own. 

“ Did you see those Japs, Miss Leavitt ?” 

“ Oh, yes, aren’t they queer. But so high-bred, so pictur¬ 
esque. Do you think that color makes any difference, Mr. 
Hawkins ? I used to be so prejudiced against color.” 

“ Did you ? I never was. I used to think my old mammy 
was handsome.” 

“ How interesting your life must have been ! I should like 
to hear about it.” 

Washington was about settling himself into his narrative 
style, when Mrs. Gen. McFingal caught his eye. 

“ Have you been at the Capitol to-day, Mr. Hawkins ?” 

Washington had not. “Is anything uncommon going 
on ?” 

“ They say it was very exciting. The Alabama business 
you know. Gen. Sutler, of Massachusetts, defied England, 
and they say he wants war.” 

“ He wants to make himself conspicuous more like,” said 
Laura. “ He always, you have noticed, talks with one eye on 
the gallery, while the other is on the speaker.” 

“Well, my husband says, its nonsense to talk of war, and 
wicked. He knows what war is. If we do have war, I hope 
it will be for the patriots of Cuba. Don’t you think we want 
Cuba, Mr. Hawkins?” 

“ I think we want it bad,” said Washington. “And Santo 
Domingo. Senator Dilworthy says, we are bound to extend 
our religion over the isles of the sea. We’ve got to round 
out our territory, and ” 

Washington’s further observations were broken olf by 
Laura, who whisked him off to another part of the room, and 
reminded him that they must make their adieux. 

“How stupid and tiresome these people are,” she said. 
“ Let’s go.” 

They were turning to say good-by to the hostess, when 
l^aura’s attention was arrested by the sight of a gentleman 


344 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE APPEARS. 


who was just speaking to Mrs. Sclioonmaker. For a second 
her heart stopped beating. He was a handsome man of forty 
and perhaps more, with grayish hair and whiskers, and he 
walked with a cane, as if he were slightly lame. He might 
be less than forty, for his face was worn into hard lines, and 
he was pale. 

Ho. It could not be, she said to herself. It is only a 
resemblance. But as the gentleman turned and she saw his 
full face, Laura put out her hand and clutched Washington’s 
arm to prevent herself from falling. 

Washington, who was not minding anything, as usual 



looked ’round in wonder. Laura’s eyes were blazing fire and 
hatred ; he had never seen her look so before; and her face 
was livid. 


































LOVE AND HATE. 


M5 


“Why, what is it, sis ? Your face is as white as paper.” 

“ It’s he, it’s he. Come, come,” and she dragged him 
away. 

“It’s who?” asked Washington, when they had gained 
the carriage. 

“ It’s nobody, it’s nothing. Did I say he ? I was faint 
with the heat. Don’t mention it. Don’t you speak of it,” 
she added earnestly, grasping his arm. 

When she had gained her room she went to the glass and 
saw a pallid and haggard face. 

“ My God,” she cried, “ this will never do. I should have 
killed him, if I could. The scoundrel still lives, and dares to 



REFLECTION. 

come here. I ought to kill him. He has no right to live. 
How I hate him. And yet I loved him. Oh heavens, how 
I did love that man. And why didn’t he kill me ? He 
might better. He did kill all that was good in me. Oh, but 
he shall not escape. He shall not escape this time. He may 
have forgotten. He will find that a woman’s hate doesn’t 











346 


ONE GLEAM OF HOPE. 


forget. Tlie law ? What would the law do but protect him 
and make me an outcast ? How all Washington would gather 
up its virtuous skirts and avoid me, if it knew. I wonder if 
he hates me as I do him 

So Laura raved, in tears and in rage by turns, tossed in a 
tumult of passion, which she gave way to with little effort to 
control. 

A servant came to summon her to dinner. She had a head¬ 
ache. The hour came for the President’s reception. She 
had a raving headache, and the Senator must go without her. 

That night of agony was like another night she recalled. 
How vividly it all came back to her. And at that time she 
remembered she thought she might be mistaken. He might 
come back to her. Perhaps he loved her, a little, after all. 
]^ow^ she knew he did not. How, she knew he was a cold¬ 
blooded scoundrel, without pity. Hever a word in all these 
years. She had hoped he was dead. Did his wife live, she 
wondered. She caught at that, and it gave a new current to 
her thoughts. Perhaps, after all—she must see him. She 
could not live without seeing him. Would he smile as in 
the old days when she loved him so; or would he sneer as 
when she last saw him ? If he looked so, she hated him. If 
he should call her “ Laura, darling,” and look so / She must 
find him. She must end her doubts. 

Laura kept her room for two days, on one excuse and 
another—a nervous headache, a cold—to the great anxiety of 
the Senator’s household. Callers, who went away, said she 
had been too gay—they did not say fast,” though some of 
them may have thought it. One so conspicuous and success¬ 
ful in society as Laura could not be out of the way two days, 
without remarks being made, and not all of them compli¬ 
mentary. 

When she came down she appeared as usual, a little pale 
may be, but unchanged in manner. If there were any deep¬ 
ened lines about the eyes they had been concealed. Her 
course of action w^as quite determined. 

At breakfast she asked if any one had heard any unusual 


ARMED, AND ON TRACK. 


347 


noise during the night? Nobody had. Washington never 
heard any noise of any kind after his eyes were shut. Some 
people thought he never did when they were open either. 

Senator Dilworthy said he had come in late-. He was 
detained in a little consultation after the Congressional prayer 
meeting. Perhaps it w^as his entrance. 

No, Laura said. She heard that. It was later. She 
might have been nervous, but she fancied somebody was 
trying to get into the house. 

Mr. Brierl}^ humorously suggested that it might be, as 
none of the members were occupied in night session. 

The Senator frowned, and said he did not like to hear that 
kind of newspaper slang. There might be burglars about. 

Laura said that very likely it was only her nervousness. 
But she thought she would feel safer if Washington would 
let her take one of his pistols. Washington brought her one 
of his revolvers, and instructed her in the art of loading and 
firing it. 

During the morning Laura drove down to Mrs. Schoon- 
maker’s to pay a friendly call. 

‘‘ Your receptions are always delightful,” she said to that 
lady, “ the pleasant people all seem to come here.” 

“ It’s pleasant to hear you say so, Miss Hawkins. I believe 
my friends like to come here. Though society in Washington 
is mixed ; we have a little of everything.” 

“ I suppose, though, you don’t see much of the old rebel 
element ?” said Laura with a smile. 

If this seemed to Mrs. Schoonmaker a singular remark for 
a lady to make, who was meeting rebels ” in society every 
day, she did not express it in any way, but only said, 

y oil know we don’t say ‘ rebel ’ anymore. Before we 
came to Washington I thought rebels would look unlike 
other people. I find we are very much alike, and that kind¬ 
ness and good nature wear away prejudice. And then you 
know there are all sorts of common interests. My husband 
sometimes says that he doesn't see but confederates are just 
as eager to get at the treasury as Unionists. You know that 
Mr. Schoonmaker is on the appropriations.” 


AN INVITATION CARD. 


US 

^ Does he know many Southerners 
Oh, yes. There were several at my reception the other dajo 
Among others a confederate Colonel—a stranger—handsome 
man with gray hair, probably you didn’t notice him, uses a 
cane in walking. A very agreeable man. I wondered why 
he called. When my husband came home and looked over 
the cards, he said he had a cotton claim. A real southerner. 
Perhaps you might know him if I could think of his name. 
Yes, here’s his card—Louisiana.” 

Laura took the card, looked at it intently till she was sure 
of the address, and then laid it down, with, 

“ No, he is no friend of ours.” 

That afternoon, Laura wrote and dispatched the following 
note. It was in a round hand, unlike her flowing style, and 
it was directed to a number and street in Georgetown:— 

“ A Lady at Senator Dilwovthy’s would like to see Col. George Selby, oa 
business connected with the Cotton Claims. Can he call Wednesday at three 
o’clock P. M, ?” 

On Wednesday at 3 P. M. no one of the family was likely 
to be in the house except Laura. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


—Belhs amics, toruatz, 
Per merce, vas me de cors. 


Alphonse IL 


Ala khambiatii da zure deseina? 
Hitz eman zeuereitan, 

Ez bebin, bai berritan, 

Enia zinela. 

—Obiliua niizii; 

Eniizu kbambiatii, 

Bibotzian beinin bartu, 

Eta zii u.aitbatu. 


Maitia^ nun zira ? 



OL. SELBY had just come to Washington, and taken 


\J lodgings in Georgetown. His business was to get pay 
for some cotton that was destroyed during the war. There 
were many others in Washington on the same errand, some 
of them with claims as difficult to establish as his. A concert 
of action was necessary, and he was not, therefore, at all sur¬ 
prised to receive the note from a lady asking him to call at 
Senator Dilworthy’s. 

At a little after three on Wednesday he rang the hell of 
the Senator’s residence. It was a handsome mansion on the 
Square opposite the President’s house. The owner must be 
a man of great wealth, the Colonel thought; perhaps, who 
knows, said he with a smile, he may have got some of my 
cotton in exchange for salt and quinine after the capture of 
Hew Orleans. As this thought passed through his mind he 
was looking at the remarkable figure of the Hero of Hew 
Orleans, holding itself by main strength from sliding off the 
back of the rearing bronze horse, and lifting its hat in the 
manner of one who acknowledges the pla3fing of that martial 
air: See, the Conquering Hero Comes ! ” Gad,” said the 
Colonel to himself, Old Hickory ought to get down and 
give his seat to Gen. Sutler—but they’d have to tie liim on.” 


860 


THE DESTKOYER AND HIS VICTIM MEET. 


Laura was in the drawing room. She heard the bell, she 
heard the steps in the hall, and the emphatic thud of the 
supporting cane. She had risen from her chair and was 
leaning against the piano, pressing her left hand against the 
violent beating of lier heart. The door opened and the Colo¬ 
nel entered, standing in the full light of the opposite window. 
Laura was more in the shadow and stood for an instant, long- 
enough for the Colonel to make the inward observation that 



ONCE MORE FACE TO FACE. 


she was a magnificent woman. She then advanced a step. 

“ Col. Selby, is it not ? ” 

The Colonel staggered back, caught himself by a chair, and 
turned towards her a look of terror. 

Laura ? My God! ” 

Yes, your wife ! ” 

Oh, no, it can’t be. How came you here ? I thought 
you were—” 

‘‘You thought I was dead ? You thought you were rid 
of me ? Hot so long as you live. Col. Selby, not so long as 
you live,” Laura in her passion was hurried on to say. 












































BITTER REPROACHES. 


351 


ISTo man had ever accused Col. Selby of cowardice. But 
he was a coward before this woman. May be he was not the 
man he once was. Where was his coolness ? Where was his 
sneering, imperturbable manner, with which he could have 
met, and would have met, any woman he had wronged, if 
he had only been forewarned. He felt now that he must 
temporize, that he must gain time. There was danger in 
Laura’s tone. There was something frightful in her calmness. 
Her steady eyes seemed to devour him. 

“ You have ruined my life,” she said ; “ and I was so young, 
so ignorant, and loved you so. You betrayed me, and left 
me, mocking me and trampling me into the dust, a soiled 
cast-off. You might better have killed me then. Then I 
should not have hated you.” 

“ Laura,” said the Colonel, nerving himself, but still pale, 
and speaking appealingly, ‘‘don’t say that. Heproach me. I 
deserve it. I was a scoundrel. I was everything monstrous. 
But your beauty made me crazy. You are right. I was a 
brute in leaving you as I did. But what could I do ? I was 
married, and—” 

“ And your wife still lives ? ” asked Laura, bending a little 
forward in her eagerness. 

The Colonel noticed the action, and he almost said “ no,” 
but he thought of the folly of attempting concealment. 

“Yes. She is here.” 

What little color had wandered back into Laura’s face 
forsook it again. Her heart stood still, her strength seemed 
going from her limbs. Her last hope was gone. The room 
swam before her for a moment, and the Colonel stepped 
towards her, but she waved him back, as hot anger again 
coursed through her veins, and said, 

“ And you dare come with her, here^ and tell me of it, here 
and mock me with it! And you think I will have it, George ? 
You think I will let you live with that woman ? You think I 
am as powerless as that day I fell dead at your feet ? ” 

She raged now. She was in a tempest of excitement. 
And she advanced towards him with a threatening mien. She 


352 


OLDEN TIMES AND OLDEN MEMORIES. 


would kill me if she could, thought the Colonel; but he 
thought at the same moment, how beautiful she is. He had 
recovered his head now. She was lovely when he knew her, 
then a simple country girl. How she was dazzling, in the 
fullness of ripe womanhood, a superb creature, with all the 
fascination that a woman of the world has for such a man 
as Col. Selby. Hothing of this was lost on him. He step¬ 
ped quickly to her, grasped both her hands in his, and said, 

“ Laura, stop! think! Suppose I loved you yet! Suppose 
I hated my fate ! What can I do ? I am broken by the war. 
I have lost everything almost. 1 had as lief be dead and done 
with it. ” 

The Colonel spoke with a low remembered voice that 
thrilled through Laura. He was looking into her eyes as he 
had looked in those old days, when no birds of all those that 
sang in the groves wLere they walked sang a note of warv.l’;^. 
He was wounded. He had been punished. Her stre 



COL. SELBY KNEELS AND KISSES HER HAND. 


forsook her with her rage, and she sank upon a chair, sobbing, 
“ Oh ! my God, I thought I hated him !” 

The Colonel knelt beside her. He took her hand and she 
let him keep it. She looked down into his face, with a pitia¬ 
ble tenderness, and said in a weak voice. 









ALAS, FOR WOMAN’S STRENGTH. 


353 


“ And you do love me a little ?” 

Tlie Colonel vowed and protested. He kissed her hand 
and her lips. He swore his false soul into perdition. 

She wanted love, this woman. Was not her love for George 
Selby deeper than any other w^oman’s could be ? Had she 
not a right to him ? Did he not belong to her by virtue of 
her overmastering passion ? His wife—she was not his wife, 
except by the law. She could not be. Even with the law 
she could have no right to stand between two souls that were 
one. It was an infamous condition in society that George 
should be tied to her. 

Laura thought this, believed it, because she desired to 
believe it. She came to it as an original proposition, founded 
on the requirements of her own nature. She may liave heard, 
doubtless she had, similar theories that were prevalent at 
that dajq theories of the tyranny of marriage and of the free¬ 
dom of marriage. She had even heard women lecturers say 
that marriage should only continue so long as it pleased 
either party to it—for a year, or a month, or a day. She 
had not given much heed to this. But she saw its justice 
now in a flash of revealing desire. It must be right. God 
would not have permitted her to love George Selby as she 
did, and him to love her, if it w^as right for society to raise 
up a barrier between them. He belonged to her. Had he 
not confessed it himself ? 

Hot even the religious atmosphere of Senator Dilworthy’s 
house had been sufficient to instill into Laura that deep Chris¬ 
tian principle which had been somehow omitted in her train¬ 
ing. Indeed in that very house had she not heard women, 
prominent before the country and besieging Congress, utter 
sentiments that fully justified the course she was marking out 
for lierself ? 

They were seated now, side by side, talking with more 
calmness. Laura was happy, or thought she was. But it was 
that feverish sort of happiness which is snatched out of the 
black shadow of falsehood, and is at the moment recognized 
23- 


354 


RECKLESS ABANDONMENT. 


as fleeting and perilous, and indulged tremblingly. She 
loved. She was loved. That is happiness certainly. And 
the black past and the troubled present and the uncertain 
future could not snatch that from her. 

What did they say as tliey sat there ? What nothings do 
people usually say in such circumstances, even if they are 
three-score and ten ? It was enough for Laura to hear his 
voice and be near him. It was enough for him to be near 
her, and avoid committing himself as much as he could. 
Enough for him was the present also. Had there not always 
been some way out of such scrapes ? 

And yet Laura could not be quite content without prying 
into to-morrow. How could the Colonel manage to free him¬ 
self from his wife? Would it be long? Could he not go 
into some State where it would not take much time? He 
could not say exactly. That they must think of. That they 
must talk over. And so on. Hid this seem like a damnable 
plot to Laura against the life, maybe, of a sister, a woman 
like herself ? Probably not. It was right that this man 
should be hers, and there were some obstacles in the way. 
That was all. There are as good reasons for bad actions as 
for good ones, to those who commit them. When one has 
broken the tenth commandment, the others are not of much 
account. 

Was it unnatural, therefore, that when George Selby 
departed, Laura should watch him from the window, with an 
almost joyful heart as he went down the sunny square ? “ I 

shall see him to-morrow,” she said, ‘‘and the next day, and 
the next. He is mine now.” 

“ Damn the woman,” said the Colonel as he picked his way 
down the steps. “ Or,” he added, as his thoughts took a new 
turn, “ I wish my wife was in Hew Orleans.” 


CHAPTER XL. 


Open your ears; for which of you will stop 
The vent of hearing, when loud Rumor speaks t 
I, from the orient to the drooping west, 

Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold 
The acts commenced on this ball of earth: 

Upon my tongues continual slanders ride; 

The which in every language 1 pronounce, 

Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 

King Henry JV, 

A S may be readily believed. Col. Beriah Sellers was by this 
time one of the best known men in Washington, For 
the first time in his life his talents had a fair field. 

He was now at the centre of the manufacture of gigantic 
schemes, of speculations of all sorts, of political and social 
gossip. The atmosphere was full of little and big rumors and 
of vast, undefined expectations. Everybody was in haste, too, 
to push on his private plan, and feverish in his haste, as if in 
constant apprehension that to-morrow would be Judgment 
Day. Work while Congress is in session, said the uneasy 
spirit, for in the recess there is no work and no device. 

The Colonel enjoyed this bustle and confusion amazingly; 
he thrived in the air of indefinite expectation. All his own 
schemes took larger shape and more misty and majestic pro¬ 
portions ; and in this congenial air, the Colonel seemed even 
to himself to expand into something large and mysterious. 
If he respected himself before, he almost worshipped Beriah 
Sellers now, as a superior being. If he could have chosen 
an official position out of the highest, he would have been 
embarrassed in the selection. The presidency of the republic 
seemed too limited and cramped in the constitutional 

355 


356 


SELLERS DROPS IN ON THE PRESIDENT. 


restrictions. If lie could have been Grand Llama of the United 
States, that might have come the nearest to his idea of a 
position. And next to that he would have luxuriated in 
the irresponsible omniscience of the Special Correspondent. 

Col. Sellers knew the President very well, and had access 
to his presence when officials were kept cooling their heels 



JOLLY GOOD COMPANY. 


In the waiting-room. The President liked to hear the Coh 
onel talk, his voluble ease was a refreshment after the 
decorous dullness of men who only talked business and gov¬ 
ernment, and everlastingly expounded their notions of justice 
and the distribution of patronage. The Colonel was as much 
a lover of farming and of horses as Thomas Jefferson was. 
He talked to the President by the hour about his magnifi¬ 
cent stud, and his plantation at Hawkeye, a kind of prin* 
cipality he represented it. He urged the President to pay 
him a visit during the recess, and see his stock farm. 

‘‘The President’s table is well enough,” he used to say, 
to the loafers who gathered about him at Willard’s, “ well 
enough for a man on a salary, but God bless my soul, I 
should like him to see a little old-fashioned hospitality— 
open house, you know. A person seeing me at home might 
think I paid no attention to "what was in the house, just let 
things flow in and out. He’d be mistaken. What I look to 
is quality, sir. The President has variety enough, but the 





^KE iJOLCNEL’S VIEW CF THE POLITICAL SITUATION. 357 

pality ! Vegetables of course you can’t expect here. I’m 
rery particular about mine. Take celery, now—there’s only 
one spot in this country where celery will grow. But I am 
surprised about the wines. I should think they were manu¬ 
factured in the New York Custom House. I must send the 
President some from my cellar. I was really mortified the 
other day at dinner to see Blacque Bey leave his standing in 
the glasses.” 

When the Colonel first came to Washington he had 
thoughts of taking the mission to Constantinople, in order to 
be on the spot to look after the dissemination of his Eye 
Water, but as that invention was not yet quite ready, the 
project shrank a little in the presence of vaster schemes. 
Besides he felt that he could do the country more good by 
remaining at home. He was one of the Southerners who 
were constantly quoted as heartily “ accepting the situation.” 

“ I’m whipped,” he used to say with a jolly laugh, “ the 
government was too many for me; I’m cleaned out, done for, 
except my plantation and private mansion. We played fora 
big thing, and lost it, and I don’t whine, for one. I go for 
putting the old fiag on all the vacant lots. I said to the 
President, says I, ‘ Grant, why don’t you take Santo Domingo, 
annex the whole thing, and settle the bill afterwards.’ That’s 
my way. I’d take the job to manage Congress. The South 
would come into it. You’ve got to conciliate the South, 
consolidate the two debts, pay ’em off in greenbacks, and go 
ahead. That’s my notion. Boutwell’s got the right notion 
about the value of paper, but he lacks courage. I should 
like to run the treasury department about six months. I’d 
make things plenty, and business lookup.” 

The Colonel had access to the departments. He knew all 
the senators and representatives, and especially the lobby. 
He was consequently a great favorite in Newspaper Eow, and 
was often lounging in the offices there, dropping bits of 
private, official information, which were immediately caught 
up and telegraphed all over the country. But it used to 
surprise even the Colonel when he read it, it was embellished 


358 


THE MYSTERY OF THE STOLEN NEWS. 


to that degree that he hardly recognized it, and the hint was 
not lost on him. He began to exaggerate his heretofore 
simple conversation to suit the newspaper demand. 

People used to wonder in the winters of 187- and 18T-, 
where the “ Specialsgot that remarkable information with 
which they every morning surprised the country, revealing 
the most secret intentions of the President and his cabinet, 
the private thoughts of political leaders, the hidden meaning 
of every movement. This information was furnished by 
Col. Sellers. 

When he was asked, afterwards, about the stolen copy of 
the Alabama Treaty which got into the “ Hew York Tribune,’^ 
he only looked mysterious, and said that neither he nor 
Senator Dilworthy knew anything about it. But those whom 
he was in the habit of meeting occasionally felt almost cer¬ 
tain that he did know. 

It must not be supposed that the Colonel in his general 
patriotic labors neglected his own affairs. The' Columbus 
Piver navigation Scheme absorbed only a part of his time, 
so he was enabled to throw quite a strong reserve force of 
energy into the Tennessee Land plan, a vast enterprise 
commensurate with his abilities, and in the prosecution of 
which he was greatly aided by Mr. Henry Brierly, who was 
buzzing about the capitol and the hotels day and night, and 
making capital for it in some mysterious way. 

‘‘We must create a public opinion,” said Senator Dil¬ 
worthy. “ My only interest in it is a public one, and if the 
country wants the institution, Congress will have to yield.” 

It may have been after a conversation between the Colonel 
and Senator Dilworthy that the following special despatch was 
sent to a New York newspaper:— 

“We understand that a philanthropic plan is on foot in relation to the col¬ 
ored race that will, if successful, revolutionize the whole character of southern 
industry. An experimental institution is in contemplation in Tennessee which 
will do for that state what the Industrial School at Zurich did for Switzerland. 
We learn that approaches have been made to the heirs of the late Hon. Silas 
Hawkins of Missouri, in reference to a lease of a portion of their valuable prop¬ 
erty in East Tennessee. Senator Dilworthy, it is understood, is inflexibly 


THE COLONEL’S CAPITAL, STILL READY FOR HIS FRIENDS. 359 

opposed to any arrangement that will not give the government absolute control. 
Private interests must give way to the public good. It is to be hoped that Col. 
Sellers, who represents the heirs, will be led to see the matter in this light.” 

When Washington Hawkins read this despatch, he went 
to the Colonel in some anxiety. He was for a lease, he 
didn’t want to surrender anything. What did he think the 
government would offer? Two millions? 

‘‘May he three, may be four,” said the Colonel, “it’s 
worth more than the bank of England.” 

“ If they will not lease,” said Washington, “let ’em make it 
two millions for an undivided half. I’m not going to throw 
it away, not the whole of it.” 

Harry told the Colonel that they must drive the thing 
through, he couldn’t be dallying round Washington when 
Spring opened. Phil wanted him, Phil had a great thing on 
hand up in Pennsylvania. 

“ What is that ?” inquired the Colonel, always ready to 
interest himself in anything large. 

“ A mountain of coal; that’s all. He’s going to run a tun¬ 
nel into it in the Spring.” 

“Does he want any capital?” asked the Colonel, in the 
tone of a man who is given to calculating carefully before he 
makes an investment. 

“Ko. Old man Bolton’s behind him. He has capital, 
but I judged that he wanted my experience in starting.” 

“ If he wants me, tell him I’ll come, after Congress adjourns. 
I should like to give him a little lift. He lacks enterprise— 
now, about that Columbus Biver. He doesn’t see his chances. 
But he’s a good fellow, and you can tell him that Sellers 
won’t go back on him.” 

“By the way,” asked Harry, “who is that rather handsome 
party that’s hanging ’round Laura ? I see him with her 
everywhere, at the Capitol, in the horse cars, and he comes to 
Dilworthy’s. If he w^eren’t lame, I should think he was going 
to run off with her.” 

“ Oh, that’s nothing. Laura knows her business. He has 
a cotton claim. Used to be at Hawkeye during the war— 


360 


LAURA’S PRESENT LIFE. 


Selby’s his name, was a Colonel. Got a wife and family 
Yery respectable people, the Selby’s.” 

‘‘ Well, that’s all right,” said Harry, “ if it’s business. But 
if a woman looked at me as I’ve seen her at Selby, I should 
understand it. And it’s talked about, I can tell you.” 

Jealousy had no doubt sharpened this young gentleman’s 
observation. Laura could not have treated him with more 
lofty condescension if she had been the Queen of Sheba, 
on a royal visit to the great republic. And he resented it, 
and was “ huffy ” when he was with her, and ran her errands, 
and brought her gossip, and bragged of his intimacy with 
the lovely creature among the fellows at Newspaper Row. 

Laura’s life was rushing on now in the full stream of 
intrigue and fashionable dissipation. She was conspicuous 
at the balls of the fastest set, and was suspected of being 
present at those doubtful suppers that began late and ended 



SUPPER OR BREAKFAST. 


early. If Senator Dilworthy remonstrated about appearances, 
she had a way of silencing him. Perhaps she had some hold 
on him, perhaps she was necessary to his plan for ameliorating 
the condition of the colored race. 

She saw Col. Selby, when the public knew and when it did 
not know. She would see him, whatever excuses he made, 
and however he avoided her. She was urged on by a fever 
of love and hatred and jealousy, which alternately possessed 



IN FETTERS. 


36 ; 


ner. Sometimes slie petted him, and coaxed him and tried 
all her fascinations. And again she threatened him and 
reproached him. What was he doing? Whj had he taken no 
steps to free himself ? Why didn’t he send his wife home ? 
She should have money soon. They could go to- Europe,— 
anywhere. AVhat did she care for talk ? 

And he promised, and lied, and invented fresh excuses for 
delay, like a cowardly gambler and roue as he was, fearing to 
break with her, and half the time unwilling to give her up. 

“ That woman doesn’t know what fear is,” he said to him¬ 
self, “ and she watches me like a hawk.” 

He told his wife that this woman was a lobbyist, whom he 
liad to tolerate and use in getting through his claims, and 
that he should pay her and have done with her, when he suc¬ 
ceeded. 




CHAPTER XLl. 


\gjLo Co 

7V^* eVAroos. 

Egundano ygan daya ni baydienetacoric ? 

Ny amoriac enu mayte, nic hura ecin gayecxi. 

Bern. d'Echeparre. 

H E^^EY Brierlj was at the Dilworthj’s constantly and on 
such terms of intimacy that he came and went without 
question. The Senator was not an inhospitable man, he 
liked to have guests in his house, and Harry’s gay humor and 
rattling way entertained him ; for even the most devout men 
and busy statesmen must have hours of relaxation. 

Harry himself believed that he was of great service in the 
University business, and that the success of the scheme 
depended upon him to a great degree. He spent many hours 
in talking it over with the Senator after dinner. He went 
so far as to consider whether it would be worth his while to 
take the professorship of civil engineering in the new institu¬ 
tion. 

But it was not the Senator’s society nor his dinners—at 
which this scapegrace remarked that there was too much grace 
and too little wine—which attracted him to the house. The 
fact was the poor fellow hung around there day after day for 

362 



FAST IN A NET. 


36a 


the chance of seeing Laura for five minutes at a time. For 
her presence at dinner he would endure the long bore of the 
Senator’s talk afterwards, while Laura was off at some 
assembly, or excused herself on the plea of fatigue. Now 
and then he accompanied her to some reception, and rarely, 
on off nights, he was blessed with her company in the parlor, 
when he sang, and was chatty and vivacious and performed 
a hundred little tricks of imitation and ventriloquism, and 
made himself as entertaining as a man could be. 

It puzzled him not a little that all his fascinations seemed 
to go for so little with Laura; it was beyond his experience 
with women. Sometimes Laura was exceedingly kind and 
petted him a little, and took the trouble to exert her powers 
of pleasing, and to entangle him deeper and deeper. But 
this, it angered him afterwards to think, was in private; in 
public she was beyond his reach, and never gave occasion to 
the suspicion that she had any affair with him. He was 
never permitted to achieve the dignity of a serious flirtation 
with her in public. 

‘‘ Why do you treat me so ? ” he once said, reproachfully. 

“ Treat you how ? ” asked Laura in a sweet voice, lifting her 
eyebrows. 

You know well enough. You let other fellows monopo¬ 
lize you in society, and you are as indifferent to me as if we 
were strangers.” 

“ Can I help it if they are attentive, can I be rude ? But 
we are such old friends, Mr. Brierly, that I didn’t suppose 
you would be jealous.” 

“ I think I must be a very old friend, then, by your con¬ 
duct towards me. By the same rule I should judge that Col. 
Selby must be very new.” 

Laura looked up quickly, as if about to return an indignant 
answer to such impertinence, but she only said, “Well, what 
of Col. Selby, sauce-box ? ” 

“ Nothing, probably, you’ll care for. Your being with him 
so much is the town talk, that’s all ? ” 


WHAT PEOPLE WERE SAYING. 


“ What do people say ? ” asked Laura calmly. 

“ Oh, they say a good many things. You are offended, 
though, to have me speak of it 

‘‘ Not in the least. You are my true friend. I feel that I 
can trust you. You wouldn’t deceive me, Harry?” throw¬ 
ing into her eyes a look of trust and tenderness that melted 
away all his petulance and distrust. “ What do they say ?” 

‘‘ Some say that you’ve lost your head about him; others 
that you don’t care any more for him than you do for a dozen 
others, but that he is completely fascinated with you and 
about to desert his wife ; and others say it is nonsense to sup¬ 
pose you would entangle yourself with a married man, and 
that your intimacy only arises from the matter of the cotton 
claims, for which he wants your influence with Dilworthy. 
But you know everybody is talked about more or less in Wash¬ 
ington. I shouldn’t care; but I wish you wouldn’t have so 
much to do with Selby, Laura,” continued Harry, fancying 
that he was now upon such terms that his advice would be 
heeded. 

And you believed these slanders ?” 

‘‘I don’t believe anything against you, Laura, but Col. 
Selby does not mean you any good. I know you wouldn’t 
be seen with him if you knew his reputation.” 

“ Ho you know him ?” Laura asked, as indifferently as she 
could. 

“ Only a little. I was at his lodgings in Georgetown a 
day or two ago, with Col. Sellers. Sellers wanted to talk 
with him about some patent remedy he has, Eye Water, or 
something of that sort, which he wants to introduce into 
Europe. Selby is going abroad very soon.” 

Laura started, in spite of her self-control. 

“ And his wife ? Hoes he take his family ? Hid you see 
his wife ?” 

“ Yes. A dark little woman, rather worn—must have been 
pretty once though. Has three or four children, one ot them 
a baby. They’ll all go, of course. She said she should be 


ANGRY, YET GRATEFUL. 


365 


glad enough to get away from Washington. You know 
Selby has got his claim allowed, and they say he has had a 
run of luck lately at Morrissey’s.” 

Laura heard all this in a kind of stupor, looking straight 
at Harry, without seeing him. Is it possible, she was think¬ 
ing, that this base wretch, after all his promises, will 
take his wife and children and leave me? Is it possible 
the town is saying all these things about me? And—a 
look of bitterness coming into her face—does the fool 
think he can escape so ? 

“You are angry with me, Laura,” said Harry, not compre¬ 
hending in the least what was going on in her mind. 

“ Angry ?” she said, forcing herself to come back to his 
presence. “With you? Oh, no. I’m angry with the cruel 
world, which pursues an independent woman as it never does 
a man. I’m grateful to you, Harry ; I’m grateful to you for 
telling me of that odious man.” 

And she rose from her chair and gave him her pretty 



A LADY-KILLER TAMED. 


hand, which the silly fellow took, and kissed and clung to. 
And he said many silly things, , before she disengaged 
































566 GOOD CAME EVEN OUT OF NAZARETH. 

herself gently, and left him, saying it was time to dress, for 
dinner. 

And Harry went away, excited, and a little hopeful, but 
only a little. The happiness was only a gleam, which departed 
and left him thoroughly miserable She never would love 
him , ana she was going to the devil, besides. He couldn’t 
shut his eyes to what he saw, nor his ears to what he heard of 
her. 

What had come over this trifling young lady-killer ? It was 
a pity to see such a gay butterfly broken on a wheel. Was 
there something good in him, after all, that had been 
touched ? He was in fact madly in love with this woman. 
It is not for us to analyze the passion and say whether it 
was a worthy one. It absorbed his whole nature and 
made him wretched enough. If he deserved punishment, 
what more would you have ? Perhaps this love was kind¬ 
ling a new heroism in him. 

He saw the road on which Laura was going clearly enough, 
though lie did not believe the worst he heard of her. He 
loved her too passionately to credit that for a moment. And 
it seemed to him that if he could compel her to recognize 
her position, and his own devotion, she might love him, and 
that he could save her. His love was so far ennobled, and 
become a very different thing from its beginning in Hawkeye. 
Whether he ever thought that if he could save her from 
ruin, he could give her up himself, is doubtful. Such a 
pitch of virtue does not occur often in real life, espec¬ 
ially in such natures as Harry’s, wdiose generosity and 
unselfishness were matters of temperament rather than habits 
or principles. 

He wrote a long letter to Laura, an incoherent, passionate 
letter, pouring out his love as he could not do in her presence, 
and warning her as plainly as he dared of the dangers that 
surrounded her, and the risks she ran of compromising her¬ 
self in many ways. 

Laura read the letter, with a little sigh may be, as she 


HARRY’S LETTERS. 


367 


thought of other days, but with contempt also, and she put 
it into the fire with the thought, “ They are all alike.” 



CONSUMING LOVE 


Harry was in the habit of writing to Philip freely, and 
boasting also about his doings, as he could not help doing 
and remain himself. Mixed up with his own exploits, and 
his daily triumphs as a lobbyist, especially in the matter of 
the new University, in which Harry was to have something 
handsome, were amusing sketches of Washington society, 
hints about Dilworthy, stories about Col. Sellers, who had 
become a well-known character, and wdse remarks upon the 
machinery of private legislation for the public good, which 
greatly entertained Philip in his convalescence. 

Laura’s name occurred very often in these letters, at first in 
casual mention as the belle of the season, carrying everything 
before her with her wit and beauty, and then more seriously, 
as if Harry did not exactly like so much general admiration 
of her, and was a little nettled by her treatment of him. 














368 


PHILIP TO THE RESCUE. 


This was so different from Harry’s usual tone about women, 
that Philip wondered a good deal over it. Could it be possi¬ 
ble that he was seriously affected ? Then came stories about 
Laura, town talk, gossip which Harry denied the truth of 
indignantly; but he was evidently uneasy, and at length 
wrote in such miserable spirits that Philip asked him squarely 
what the trouble was ; was he in love ? 

Upon this, Harry made a clean breast of it, and told Philip 
all he knew about the Selby affair, and Laura’s treatment of 
him, sometimes encouraging him and then throwing him off, 
and finally his belief that she would go to the bad if something 
was not done to arouse her from her infatuation. He wished 
Philip was in Washington. He knew Laura, and she had a 
great respect for his character, his opinions, his judgment^. 
Perhaps he, as an uninterested person in whom she would have 
some confidence, and as one of the public, could say some¬ 
thing to her that would show her where she stood. 

Philip saw the situation clearly enough. Of Laura he 
knew not much, except that she was a woman of uncommon 
fascination, and he thought from what he had seen of her in 
Hawkeye, her conduct towards him and towards Harry, of 
not too much principle. Of course he knew nothing of her 
history; he knew nothing seriously against her, and if Harry 
w^as desperately enamored of her, why should he not win her 
if he could. If, however, she had already become what Harry 
uneasily felt she might become, was it not his duty to go to 
the rescue of his friend and try to save him from any rash 
act on account of a woman that might prove to be entirely 
unworthy of him; for trifier and visionary as he was, Harry 
deserved a better fate than this. 

Philip determined to go to Washington and see for him¬ 
self. He had other reasons also. He began to know enough ’ 
of Mr. Bolton’s affairs to be uneasy. Pennybacker had been 
there several times during the winter, and he suspected that 
he was involving Mr. Bolton in some doubtful scheme. 
Pennybacker was in Washington, and Philip thought he 


A CONVERT TO WOMEN’S RIGHTS. 


369 


might perhaps find out something about him, and his plans, 
that would be of service to Mr. Bolton. 

Philip had enjoyed his winter very well, for a man with 
his arm broken and his head smashed. With two such nurses 
as Puth and Alice, illness seemed to him rather a nice hoik 
day, and every moment of his convalescence had been precious 
and all too fieeting. With a young fellow of the habits of 
Philip, such injuries cannot be counted on to tarry long, even 
for the purpose of love-making, and Philip found himself 
getting strong with even disagreeable rapidity. 

During his first weeks of pain and weakness, Puth was 
unceasing in her ministrations; she quietly took charge of 
him, and with a gentle firmness resisted all attempts of Alice 
or any one else to share to any great extent the burden with 
her. She was clear, decisive and peremptory in whatever she 
did ; but often when Philip opened his eyes in those first days 
of suffering and found her standing by his bedside, he saw a 
look of tenderness in her anxious face that quickened his 
already feverish pulse, a look that remained in his heart long 
after he closed his eyes. Sometimes he felt her hand on his 
forehead, and did not open his eyes for fear she would take 
it away. He watched for her coming to his chamber; he 
could distinguish her light footstep from all others. If this 
is what is meant by women practicing medicine, thought 
Philip to himself, I like it. 

“ Puth,” said he one day when he was getting to be quite 
himself, “I believe in it?” 

Believe in what ?” 


“ Why, in women physicians.” 

‘‘ Then, I’d better call in Mrs. Dr. Longstreet.” 

Oh, no. One will do, one at a time. I think I should 
be well to-morrow, if I thought I should never have any 
other.” 

Thy physician thinks thee mustn’t talk, Philip,” said Putk 
putting her finger on his lips. 

“ But, Puth, I want to tell you that I should wish I never 

had got well if—” 

2 - 1 - 


370 


A DOCTOR’S SUBSTITUTE. 


“ There, there, thee must not talk. Thee is wandering 
again,” and Kiith closed his lips, with a smile on her own that 
broadened into a merry laugh as she ran away. 

Philip was not weary, however, of making these attempts, 
he rather enjoyed it. But whenever he inclined to be senti¬ 
mental, Ruth would cut him olf, with some such gravely con¬ 
ceived speech as, ‘‘ Does thee think that thy physician will 
take advantage of the condition of a man who is as weak 



A CONVERT TO WOMEN’S RIGHTS. 


as thee is ? I will call Alice, if thee has any dying confes¬ 
sions to make.” 

As Philip convalesced, Alice more and more took Ruth’s 
place as his entertainer, and read to him by the hour, when 
he did not want to talk—to talk about Ruth, as he did a good 
deal of the time. Nor was this altogether unsatisfactory to 
Philip. He was always happy and contented with Alice. 
She was the most restful person he knew. Better informed 
than Ruth and with a much more varied culture, and bright 
and sympathetic, he was never weary of her company, if he 
was not greatly excited by it. She had upon his mind that 
peaceful influence that Mrs. Bolton had when, occasionally, 
she sat by his bedside with her work. Some people have 
this influence, which is like an emanation. They bring peace 
to a house, they diffuse serene content in a room full of mixed 







PHILIP TRUE AS STEEL. 


371 


company, tliongli they may say very little, and are apparently 
unconscious of their own power. 

Not that Philip did not long for Pnth’s presence all the 
same. Since he was well enough to be about the house, she 
was busy again with her studies. Now and then her teasing 
humor came again. She always had a playful shield against 
his sentiment. Philip used sometimes to declare that she had 
no sentiment; and then he doubted if he should be pleased 
with her after all if she were at all sentimental; and he 
rejoiced that she had, in such matters, what he called the airy 
grace of sanity. She was the most gay serious person he ever 
saw. 

Perhaps he was not so much at rest or so contented with 
her as with Alice. But then he loved her. And wnat have 
rest and contentment to do with love i 


CHAPTER XLir. 


SuUle. Would I were bang’d then! I’ll conform myself 
Dol. Will you, sir? do so then, and quickly: swear. 

Sub. What should I swear? 

Dol. To leave your faction, sir. 

And labour kindly in the common work. 

The AlchemiBt* 

Eku edue mfine, mfine ata eku: miduehe mfine, mfine itaha. 

Epik Proverb, 

M e. Buckstone’s campaign was brief—much briefer than 
he supposed it would be. He began it purposing to 
win Laura without being won himself; but his experience 
was that of all who had fought on that field before him; he 
diligently continued his effort to win her, but he presently 
found that while as yet he could not feel entirely certain of 
liaviiig won her, it was very manifest that she had won him. 
He had made an able fight, brief as it was, and that at least 
was to his credit. He was in good company, now ; he walked 
in a leash of conspicuous captives. These unfortunates fol¬ 
lowed Laura helplessly, for whenever she took a prisoner he 
remained her slave henceforth. Sometimes they chafed in 
their bondage ; sometimes they tore themselves free and said 
their serfdom was ended; but sooner or later they always 
came back penitent and worsinping. Laura pursued her usual 
course: slie encouraged Mr. Buckstone by turns, and by turns 
she harassed him; slie exalted him to the clouds at one time, 
and at another she dragged him down again. She constituted 

3721 


A BITTER ENEMY CONSIDERED. 


3T3 


him chief champion of the Knobs University bill, and he 
accepted the position, at first reluctantly, but later as a valued 
means of serving her—he even came to look upon it as a 
piece of great good fortune, since it brought him into such 
frequent contact with her. 

Through him she learned that the Hon. Mr. Trollop was a 
bitter enemy of her bill. He urged her not to attempt to 
infiuence Mr. Trollop in any way, and explained that what¬ 
ever she might attempt in that direction would surely be 
used against her and with damaging effect. 

She at first said she knew Mr. Trollop, “ and was aware 
that he had a Blank-Blank but Mr. Buckstone said that 
while he was not able to conceive w^hat so curious a phrase as 
Blank-Blank might mean, and had no wish to pry into the 
matter, since it was probably private, he “ w^ould nevertheless 
venture the blind assertion that nothing would answer in this 
particular case and during this particular session but to be 
exceedingly wary and keep clear away from Mr. Trollop; 
any other course would be fatal.” 

It seemed that nothing could be done. Laura was seriously 
troubled. Everything was looking well, and yet it was plain 
that one vigorous and determined enemy might eventually 
succeed in overthrowing all her plans. A suggestion came 
into her mind presently and she said : 

“ Can’t you fight against his great Pension bill and bring 
him to terms?” 

Oh, never; he and I are sworn brothers on that measure; 
we work in harness and are very loving—I do everything I 
possibly can for him there. But I work with might and main 
against his Immigration bill,—as pertinaciously and as vin¬ 
dictively, indeed, as he works against our University. We 
hate each other through half a conversation and are all affec¬ 
tion through the other half. We understand each other. 
He is an admirable worker outside the capitol; he will do 
more for the Pension bill than any other man could do; I 
wish he would make the great speech on it which he wants 


* Her private figure of speech for Brother—or Son-in-law. 



374: 


PLAN OF ATTACK ADOPTED. 


to make—and then I would make another and we would be 
safe.” 

‘‘ Well if he wants to make a great speech why doesn’t he do 
it ?” 

Visitors interrupted the conversation and Mr. Buckstone 
took his leave. It was not of the least moment to Laura that 
her question had not been answered, inasmuch as it concerned 
a thing which did not interest her; and yet, human being 
like, she thought she would have liked to know. An oppor¬ 
tunity occurring t^resently, she put the same question to 
another person and got an answer that satisfied her. She 
pondered a good while, that niglit, after she had gone to bed, 
and when she finally turned over to go to sleep, she had 
thought out a new scheme. The next evening at Mrs. Glov- 
erson’s party, she said to Mr. Buckstone: 

“ I want Mr. Trollop to make his great speech on the Pen¬ 
sion bill.” 

Do you! But you remember I was interrupted, and did 
not explain to you—” 

“ Never mind, I know. You must make him make that 
speech. I very particularly desire it.” 

“ Oh, it is easy to say make him do it, but how am I to 
make him ?” 

It is perfectly easy ; I have thought it all out.” 

She then went into the details. At length Mr. Buckstone 
said: 

“ I see now. I can manage it, I am sure. Indeed I w^on- 
der he never thought of it himself—there are no end of pre¬ 
cedents. But how is this going to benefit you, after I ham 
managed it ? There is where the mystery lies.” 

‘‘ But I will take care of that. It will benefit me a great 
deal.” 

“ I only wish I could see how ; it is the oddest freak. You 
seem to go the furthest around to get at a thing—but you are 
in earnest, aren’t you ?” 

“Yes, I am, indeed.” 


THE TRAP SET. 


375 


‘‘Yery well, I will do it—but why not tell me how you 
imagine it is going to help yon 

‘‘I will, by and by.—Now there is nobody talking to him. 
Go straight and do it, there’s a good fellow.” 

A moment or two later the two sworn friends of the Pen¬ 
sion bill were talking together, earnestly, and seemingly 



OPENING NEGOTIATIONS. 


unconscious of the moving throng about them. They talked 
an hour, and then Mr. Bnckstone came back and said: 

He hardly fancied it at first, but he fell in love with it 
after a bit. And we have made a compact, too. I am to 
keep his secret and he is to spare me, in future, when he 
gets ready to denounce the supporters of the University bill 
—and I can easily believe he will keep his word on this occa¬ 
sion.” 

A fortnight elapsed, and the University bill had gathered 
to itself many friends, meantime. Senator Dilworthy began 
to think the harvest was ripe. He conferred with Laura pri¬ 
vately. She was able to tell him exactly how the House 
would vote. There was a majority—the bill would pass, 






















376 


MR. TROLLOP VISITS LAURA. 


unless weak members got frightened at the last, and deserted—a 
thing pretty likely to occur. The Senator said : 

I wish we had one more good strong man. Now Trollop 
ought to be on our side, for he is a friend of the negro. But 
he is against us, and is our bitterest opponent. If he would 
simply vote No, but keep quiet and not molest us, I would 
feel perfectly cheerful and content. But perhaps there is no 
use in thinking of that.” 

«Why I laid a little plan for his benefit two weeks ago. 
I think he will be tractable, maybe. He is to come here to¬ 
night.” 

“Look out for him, my child ! He means mischief, sure. 
It is said that he claims to know of improper practices having 
been used in the interest of this bill, and he thinks he 
sees a chance to make a great sensation when the bill 
comes up. Be wary. Be very, very careful, my dear. 
Do your very ablest talking, now. You can convince a man 
of anything, when you try. You must convince him that if 
anything improper has been done, you at least are ignorant 
of it and sorry for it. And if you could only persuade 
him out of his hostility to the bill, too—but don’t over¬ 
do the thing; don’t seem too anxious, dear.” 

“ I won’t; I’ll be ever so careful. I’ll talk as sweetly to 
him as if he were my own child ! You may trust me—indeed 
you may.” 

The door-bell rang. 

That is the gentleman now,” said Laura. Senator Dil- 
worthy retired to his study. 

Laura welcomed Mr. Trollop, a grave, carefully dressed 
And very respectable looking man, with a bald head, standing 
collar and old fashioned watch seals. 

“ Promptness is a virtue, Mr. Trollop, and I perceive that 
you have it. You are always prompt with me.” 

‘‘I always meet my engagements, of every kind. Miss 
Hawkins.” 

“ It is a quality which is rarer in the world than it has 


PKELIMINARIES. 377 

been, I believe. I wished to see you on business, Mr. Trol¬ 
lop.” 

“ I judged so. What can I do for you 
You know my hill—the Knobs University bill ?” 

Ah, I believe it 7^ ^mur bill. I had forgotten. Yes, I 
know the bill.” 

“Well, would you mind telling me your opinion of it?” 

“ Indeed, since you seem to ask it without reseiwe, I am 
obliged to say that I do not regard it favorably. I have not 
seen the bill itself, but fi*om wdiat I can hear, it—it—well, it 
has a bad look about it. It—” 

“ Speak it out—never fear.” 

“Well, it—they say it contemplates a fraud upon the gov¬ 
ernment.” 

“ Well ?” said Laura tranquilly. 

“ Well! 1 say ‘ Well ? ’ too.” 

“Well, suppose it were a fraud—which I feel able to deny 
—would it be the tirst one ? ” 

“You take a body’s breath away! Would you—did you 
wish me to vote for it? Was that what you wanted to see 
me about ? ” 

“ Your instinct is correct. I did want you—I do want you 
to vote for it.” 

“ Yote for a fr—for a measure which is generally believed 
to he at least questionable ? I am afraid we cannot come to 
an understanding, Miss Hawkins.” 

“Ho, I am afraid not—if you have resumed your princi¬ 
ples, Mr. Trollop.” 

“ Did you send for me merely to insult me ? It is time for 
me to take my leave. Miss Hawkins.” 

“Ho—wait a moment. Don’t he offended at a trifle. Do 
not be offish and unsociable. The Steamship Subsidy bill was 
a fraud on the government. You voted for it, Mr. Trollop, 
though you always opposed the measure until after you had 
an interview one evening with a certain Mrs. McCarter at 
her house. She was my agent. She was acting for me. Ah, 
that is right—sit down again. You can be sociable, easily 


378 


POINTED REMARKS. 


enough if you have a mind to. Well? I am waiting. Have 
you nothing to say ? ” 

“ Miss Hawkins, I voted for that bill because when I came 
to examine into it—” 

“Ah yes. When you came to examine into it. Well, I 
only want you to examine into my bill. Mr. Trollop, you 
would not sell your vote on that subsidy bill—which was 
perfectly right—but you accepted of some of the stock, with 
the understanding that it was to stand in your brother-in¬ 
law’s name.” 

“ There is no pr—I mean, this is utterl}" groundless. Miss 
Hawkins.” But the gentleman seemed somewhat uneasy, 
nevertheless. 

“Well, not entirely so, perhaps. I and a person whom we 
will call Miss Blank (never mind the real name,) were in a 
closet at your elbow all the while.” 

Mr. Trollop wdnced—then he said Avith dignity : 

“ Miss Hawkins is it possible that you were capable of such 
a thing as that ? ” 

“ It was bad ; I confess that. It was bad. Almost as bad 
as selling one’s vote for—but I forget; you did not sell your 
vote—you only accepted a little trifle, a small token of 
esteem, for your brother-in-laAv. Oh, let us come out and be 
frank with each other. I know you, Mr. Trollop. I have 
met you on business three or four times ; true, I never offered 
to corrupt your principles—never hinted such a thing; but 
always when I had flnished sounding you, I manipulated you 
through an agent. Let us be frank. Wear this comely dis¬ 
guise of virtue befoi’e the public—it will count there; but 
here it is out of place. My dear sir, by and by there is going 
to be an investigation into that National Internal Improve¬ 
ment Directors’ Belief Measure of a few years ago, and you 
know very well that you will be a crippled man, as likely as 
not, when it is completed.” 

“ It cannot be shown that a man is a knave merely for own¬ 
ing that stock. I am not distressed about the National Im¬ 
provement Belief Measure.” 


A SLIGHT DITEERENCE IN MEN. 


•^79 


Oh indeed I am not trying to distress you. I only wished 
to make good my assertion that I knew you. Several of you 
gentlemen bought of that stock (without paying a penny 
down) received dividends from it, (think of the happy idea 
of receiving dividends, and very large ones, too, from stock 
one hasn’t paid for !) and all the while your names never ap¬ 
peared in the transaction; if ever you took the stock at all, 
you took it in other people’s names. ]^ow you see, you had 
to know one of two things; namel}^, you either knew that 
the idea of all this preposterous generosity was to bribe you 
into future legislative friendship, or you didnH know it. 
That is to say, you had to be either a knave or a—well, a 
fool—there was no middle ground. You are not a fool, Mr. 
Trollop.” 

‘‘ Miss Hawkins you flatter me. But seriously, you do not 
forget that some of tlie best and purest men in Congress took 
that stock in that way ? ” 

Did Senator Blank ? ” 

Well, no—I believe not.” 

Of course ^mu believe not. Do you suppose he was ever 
approached, on the subject?” 

‘‘ Perhaps not.” 

If you had approached him, for instance, fortified with 
the fact that some of the best men in Congress, and the 
purest, etc., etc., what would have been the result ? ” 

‘‘Well, what would have been the result?” 

“He would have shown you the door ! For Mr. Blank is 
neither a knave nor a fool. There are other men in the 
Senate and the House whom no one would have been hardy 
enough to approach with that Belief Stock in that peculiarly 
generous way, but they are not of the class that you regard 
as the best and purest. Ho, I say I know you Mr. Trollop. 
That is to say, one may suggest a thing to Mr. Trollop which 
it would not do to suggest to Mr. Blank. Mr. Trollop, you are 
pledged to support the Indigent Congressmen’s Betroactive 
Appi’opriation which is to come up, either in this or the next 
session. You do not deny that, even in public. The man 


380 


LAUKA PLAYS HER RIGHT BOWER. 


that will vote for that bill will break the eighth command¬ 
ment in any other way, sir! ” 

“But he will not vote for your corrupt measure, neverthe¬ 
less, madam! ” exclaimed Mr. Trollop, rising from his seat 
in a passion. 

“ Ah, but lie will. Sit down again, and let me explain why. 
Oh, come, don’t behave so. It is very unpleasant. How be 
good, and you shall have the missing page of your great 
speech. Here it is! ”—and she displayed a sheet of manu¬ 
script. 

Mr. Trollop turned immediately back from the threshold. 
It might have been gladness that flashed into his face; it 



NOT JUST YET. 


might have been something else; but at any rate there 
was much astonishment mixed with it. 

“ Good ! Where did you get it ? Give it me ! ” 

“ How there is no hurry. Sit down ; sit down and let us 
talk and be friendly.” 

The gentleman wavered. Then he said: 























MR. TROLLOP RALLIES. 


381 


“ No, tins is only a subterfuge. I will go. It is not the 
missing page.” 

Laura tore off a couple of lines from the bottom of the 
sheet. 

‘‘Now,” she said, “you will know whether this is the 
handwriting or not. You know it is the handwriting. Now 
if you will listen, you will know that this must be the 
list of statistics which was to be the ‘ nub ’ of your great 
effort, and the accompanying blast the beginning of the 
burst of eloquence which was continued on the next page— 
and you will recognize that there was where you broke 
down.” 

She read the page. Mr. Trollop said: 

“ This is perfectly astounding. Still, what is all this to 
me ? It is nothing. It does not concern rne. The speech 
is made, and there an end. I did break down for a moment, 
and in a rather uncomfortable place, since I had led up to 
those statistics with some grandeur ; the hiatus was pleasanter 
to the House and the galleries than it was to, me. But it 
is no matter now. A week has passed; the jests about it 
ceased three or four days ago. The whole thing is a matter 
of indifference to me. Miss Hawkins.” 

“ But you apologized, and promised the statistics for next 
day. Why didn’t you keep your promise ? ” 

“ The matter was not of sufficient consequence. The time 
was gone by to produce an effect with them.” 

“ But I hear that other friends of the Soldiers’ Pension 
Bill desire them very much. I think you ought to let them 
have them.” 

“ Miss Hawkins, this silly blunder of my copyist evidently 
has more interest for you than it has for me. I will send my 
private secretary to you and let him discuss the subject with 
you at length.” 

“ Did he copy your speech for you ? ” 

“ Of course he did. Why all these questions? Tell me—> 
how did you get hold of that page of manuscript ? , That is 
the only thing that stirs a passing interest in my mind.” 


382 


THE LEFT BOWER, ANOTHER TRICK TAKEN. 


I’m coming to that.” Then she said, much as if she were 
talking to herself : “ It does seem like taking a deal of 

unnecessary pains, for a body to hire another body to con¬ 
struct a great speech for him and then go and get still another 
body to copy it before it can be read in the House.” 

“ Miss Hawkins, what do you mean by such talk as that ?” 

“ Why I am sure I mean no harm—no harm to anybody 
in the world. I am certain that I overheard the Hon. Mr. 
Buckstone either promise to write your great speech for you 
or else get some other competent person to do it.” 

Tliis is perfectly absurd, madam, perfectly absurd !” and 
Mr. Trollop affected a laugh of derision. 

“ Why, the thing has occurred before now. I mean that I 
have heard that Congressmen have sometimes hired literary 
grubs to build speeches for them. How didn’t I overhear a 
conversation like that I spoke of?” 

“ Pshaw! Why of course you may have overheard some 
such jesting nonsense. But would one be in earnest about so 
farcical a thing ?” 

Well if it was only a joke, why did you make a serious 
matter of it ? Why did you get the speech written for you, 
and then read it in the House without ever having it copied?” 

Mr. Trollop did not laugh, this time; he seemed seriously 
perplexed. He said: 

“ Come, play out your jest. Miss Hawkins. I can’t under¬ 
stand what you are contriving—but it seems to entertain you 
—so please go on.” 

“ I will, I assure you ; but I hope to make the matter enter¬ 
taining to you, too. Your private secretary never copied 
your speech.” 

“ Indeed ? Really you seem to know my affairs better than 
I do myself.” 

“ I believe I do. You can’t name your own amanuensis, 
Mr. Trollop.” 

“ That is sad, indeed. Perhaps Miss Hawkins can ?” 

“ Yes, I can. /wrote your speech myself, and you read 
it from my manuscript. There, now I” 


LAURA SHOWS HER HANDS FULL OF TRUMPS. 


383 


Mr. Trollop did not spring to his feet and smite his brow 
with his hand while a cold sweat broke out all over him and 
the color forsook his face—no, he only said, Good God !” 
and looked greatly astonished. 

Laura handed him her commonplace-book and called his 
attention to the fact that the handwriting there and the hand¬ 
writing of this speech were the same. He was shortly con¬ 
vinced. He laid the book aside and said, composedly: 

“AVell, the wonderful tragedy is done, and it transpires 
that I am indebted to you for my late eloquence. What of 
it ? What was all this for, and what does it amount to, after 
all ? What do you propose to do about it 

“ Oh nothing. It is only a bit of pleasantry. When 
I overheard that conversation I took an early opportunity 
to ask Mr. Buckstone if he knew of anybody who might 
want a speech written—I had a friend, and so forth and 
so on. 1 was the friend, myself; I thought I might do 
you a good turn then and depend on you to do me one 
by and by. I never let Mr. Buckstone have the speech 
till the last moment, and when you huri-ied oft* to the House 
with it, you did not know there was a missing page, of course, 
but I did.” 

“ And now perhaps you think that if I refuse to support 
your bill, you will make a grand exposure ?” 

‘‘Well I had not thought of that. I only kept back the 
page for the mere fun of the thing; but since you mention it, 
I don’t know but I might do something if I were angry.” 

‘‘ My dear Miss Hawkins, if you were to give out that you 
composed my speech, you know very well that people would 
say it was only your raillery, your fondness for putting a vic¬ 
tim in the pillory and amusing the public at his expense. It 
is too flimsy. Miss Hawkins, for a person of your fine inven¬ 
tive talent—contrive an abler device than that. Come!” 

“ It is easily done, Mr. Trollop. I will hire a man, and pin 
this page on his breast, and label it, ‘ The Missing Fragment 
of the Hon. Mr. Trollop’s Great Speech—which speech was 
written and composed by Miss Laura Hawkins under a secret 


384 


MR. TROLLOP TAKES TIME TO REFLECT. 


understanding for one hundred dollars—and the money has 
not been paid.’ And I will pin round about it notes in my 



WELL POSTED. 


handwriting, which I will procure from prominent friends ot 
mine for the occasion ; also your printed speech in the Globe, 
showing the connection between its bracketed hiatus and my 
Fragment; and I give you my word of honor that I will 
stand that human bulletin board in the rotunda of the capitol 
and make him stay there a week ! You see you are prema¬ 
ture, Mr. Trollop, the w^onderful tragedy is not done yet, by 
any means. Come, now, doesn’t it improve 

Mr Trollop opened his eyes rather widely at this novel 
aspect of the case. lie got up and walked the floor and gave 
himself a moment for reflection. Then he stopped and stud¬ 
ied Laura’s face a while, and ended by saying: 
















HE THROWS UP THE GAME. 


385 


Well, I am obliged to believe you would be reckless 
enough to do that.” 

“ Then don’t put me to the test, Mr. Trollop. But let’s 
drop the matter. I have had my joke and you’ve borne the 
infliction becomingly enough. It spoils a jest to harp on it 
after one has had one’s laugh. I would much rather talk 
about my bill.” 

‘‘ So w^ould I, now, my clandestine amanuensis. Compared 
with some other subjects, even your bill is a pleasant topic to 
discuss.” 

‘‘Yerygood indeed! I thought I could persuade you. 
Kow I am sure you will be generous to the poor negro and 
vote for that bill.” 

“ Yes, I feel more tenderly toward the oppressed colored 
man than I did. Shall we bury the hatchet and be good 
friends and respect each other’s little secrets, on condition that 
I vote Aye on the measure ?” 

‘‘ With all my heart, Mr. Trollop. I give you my word of 
that.” 

‘‘ It is a bargain. But isn’t there something else you could 
give me, too ?” 

Laura looked at him inquiringly a moment, and then she 
comprehended. 

“Oh, yes! You may have it now. I haven’t any more 
use for it.” She picked up the page of manuscript, but she 
reconsidered her intention of handing it to him, and said, 
“ But never mind ; I will keep it close; no one shall see it; 
you shall have it as soon as your vote is recorded.” 

Mr. Trollop looked disappointed. But presently made 
his adieux, and had got as far as the hall, when something 
occurred to Laura. She said to herself, “I don’t simply 
want his vote, under compulsion—he might vote aye, but 
work against the bill in secret, for revenge; that man is 
unscrupulous enough to do anything. I must have his hearty 
co-operation as well as his vote. There is only one way to 
get that.” 

She called him back, and said; 

25- 


386 


THAT OLD BROTHER-IN-LAW. 


“ I value your vote, Mr. Trollop, but I value your influence 
more. You are able to help a measure along in many ways, 
if you choose.—I want to ask you to work for the bill as 
well as vote for it.” 

“ It takes so much of one’s time, Miss Hawkins—and time 
is money, you know.” 

‘‘ Yes, I know it is—especially in Congress. How there is 
no use in you and I dealing in pretenses and going at mat¬ 
ters in round-about ways. We know each other—disguises 
are nonsense. Let us be plain. I will make it an object to 
you to work for the bill.” 

“Don’t make it unnecessarily plain, please. There are 
little proprieties that are best preserved. What do you pro¬ 
pose ? ” 

“ Well, this.” She mentioned the names of several prom¬ 
inent Congressmen. “How,” said she, “these gentlemen 
are to vote and work for the bill, simply out of love for the 
negro—and out of pure generosity I have put in a relative of 
each as a member of the University incorporation. They 
will handle a million or so of money, officially, but will 
receive no salaries.—A larger number of statesmen are to 
vote and work for the bill—also out of love for the negro— 
gentlemen of but moderate influence, these—and out of pure 
generosity I am to see that relatives of theirs have positions 
in the University, with salaries, and good ones, too. You 
will vote and work for the bill, from mere atfection for the 
negro, and I desire to testify my gratitude becomingly. 
Make free choice. Have you any friend whom ^mu would 
like to present with a salaried or unsalaried position in our 
institution ? ” 

“Well, I have a brother-in-law—” 

“That same old brother-in-law, you good unselfish pro¬ 
vider ! I have heard of him often, through my agents. How 
regularly he does ‘ turn up,’ to be sure. He could deal with 
those millions virtuously, and withal with ability, too—but 
of course you would rather he had a salaried position ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” said the gentleman, facetiously, “ we are very 


MR. TROLLOP LOOKS OVER THE SITUATION. 387 


bumble, very bumble in our desires; we want no money; 
we labor solely for our country and require no reward 
but the luxury of an applauding conscience. Make him one 
of those poor hard working unsalaried corporators and let 
him do every body good with those millions—and go hungry 
himself! I will try to exert a little influence in favor of the 
bill.” 

Arrived at home, Mr. Trollop sat down and thought it all 



MR. TROLLOP THINKS IT OVER 


over—something after this fashion: it is about the shape it 
might have taken if he had spoken it aloud. 

My reputation is getting a little damaged, and I meant 
to clear it up brilliantly with an exposure of this bill at the 
supreme moment, and ride back into Congress on the eclat 
■of it; and if I had that bit of manuscript, I would do it yet. 
It would be more money in my pocket, in the end, than my 
brother-in-law will get out of that incorporatorship, fat as it 
is. But that sheet of paper is out of my reach—she will 



















388 


SENATOR DILWORTHY OVERFLOWS. 


never let that get out of her hands. And what a mountain 
it is! It blocks up my road, completely. She was going to 
hand it to me, once. Why didrCt she ! Must be a deep 
woman. Deep devil! That is what she is; a beautiful 
devil — and perfectly fearless, too. The idea of her 
pinning that paper on a man and standing him up in the 
rotunda looks absurd at a first glance. But she would do it! 
She is capable of doing anything. I went there hoping she 
would try to bribe me—good solid capital that would be 
in the exposure. Well, my prayer was answered; she did 
try to bribe me; and I made the best of a bad bargain 
and let her. I am check-mated. I must contrive something 
fresh to get back to Congress on. Very w’ell; a bird in the 
hand is worth two in the bush ; I will work for the bill— 
the incorporatorship will be a very good thing.” 

As soon as Mr. Trollop had taken his leave, Laura ran to 
Senator Dilworthy and began to speak, but he interrupted 
her and said distressfully, without even turning from his 
writing to look at her: 

Only half an hour ! You gave it up early, child. How¬ 
ever, it was best, it was best—I’m sure it was best—and 
safest.” 

‘‘Give it up! 

The Senator sprang up, all aglow: 

“ My child, you can’t mean that you—” 

“ I’ve made him promise on honor to think about a com¬ 
promise to-night and come and tell me his decision in the 
morning.” 

“ Good 1 There’s hope yet that—” 

“ Nonsense, uncle. I’ve made him engage to let the Ten¬ 
nessee Land bill utterly alone I” 

“ Impossible ! You—” 

“ I’ve made him promise to vote with us 1” 

“ Incredible ! Abso—” 

“ I’ve made him swear that he’ll worh for us!” 

“ PEE - - - POSTEEOUS !—Utterly pre—break a window, 
child, before I suffocate 1” 



LAURA RECEIVES DILLWORTHY’S BLESSING. 








































































































































































































































































































* c 











LAURA REVIEWS THE GAME. 


389 


“Ko matter, it’s true anyway. Now we can march into 
Congress with drums beating and colors flying !” 

“Well—well—well. I’m sadl}^ bewildered, sadly bewil¬ 
dered. I can’t understand it at all—the most extraordinary 
woman that ever—it’s a great day, it’s a great day. There— 
there—let me put my hand in benediction on this precious 
head. Ah, my child, the poor negro will bless—” 

“ Oh bother the poor negro, uncle! Put it in your speech 
Good-night, good-bye—we’ll marshal our forces and march 
with the dawn !” 

Laura reflected a while, when she was alone, and then fell 
to laughing, peacefully. 

“Everybody works for me,”—so ran her thought. “It 
was a good idea to make Buckstone lead Mr. Trollop on to 
get a great speech written for him; and it was a happy part 
of the same idea for me to copy the speech after Mr. Buck- 
stone had written it, and then keep back a page. Mr. B. was 
very complimentary to me when Trollop’s break-down in the 
House showed him the object of my mysterious scheme; I 
think he will say still finer things when I tell him the 
triumph the sequel to it lias gained for us. 

“But what a coward the man was, to believe I would have 
exposed that page in the rotunda, and so exposed myself. 
However, I don’t know—I don’t know. I will think a mo¬ 
ment. Suppose he voted no; suppose the bill failed ; that 
is to suppose this stupendous game lost forever, that I have 
played so desperately for ; suppose people came around pity¬ 
ing me—odious ! And he could have saved me by his single 
voice. Yes, I would have exposed him ! What would I care for 
the talk that that would have made about me when I was 
gone to Europe with Selby and all the world was busy with 
my history and my dishonor ? It would be almost happiness 
to spite somebody at such a time.’ 


CHAPTER XLTII. 


“Ikkakd gidiamuttu Wamallitakoanti likissitu anissia ukunnariani rubu kurra 
oaussa abbanu aboahiiddunnua namonnua.” 

T he very next day, sure enough, the campaign opened. 

In due course, the Speaker of the House reached that 
Order of Business which is termed ‘‘Xotices of Bills,” and 
and then the Hon. Mr. Buckstone rose in his place and gave 
notice of a bill “ To Found and Incorporate the Knobs In¬ 
dustrial University,” and then sat down without saying any¬ 
thing further. The busy gentlemen in the reporters’ gallery 
jotted a line in their note-books, ran to the telegraphic desk 
in a room which communicated with their own w^riting-par- 
lor, and then hurried back to their places in the gallery; and 
by the time they had resumed their seats, the line which 
they had delivered to the operator had been read in telegraphic 
offices in towns and cities hundreds of miles away. It was 
distinguished by frankness of language as well as by brevity: 

“ The child is born. Buckstone gives notice of the thieving Knobs Univer¬ 
sity job. It is said the noses have been counted and enough votes have been 
bought to pass it.” 

For some time the correspondents had been posting their 
several journals upon the alleged disreputable nature of the 
bill, and furnishing daily reports of the Washington gossip 
concerning it. So the next morning, nearly every news¬ 
paper of character in the land assailed the measure and hurl¬ 
ed broadsides of invective at Mr. Buckstone. The Washing¬ 
ton papers were more respectful, as usual—and conciliatory, 
also, as usual. They generally supported measures, when it 
was possible; but when they could not they deprecated ” 
violent expressions of opinion in other journalistic quarters. 


y 


A FlilENDLY JOURNAL. 


391 


They always deprecated, when there was trouble ahead. 

However, The Washington Daily Love-Feast hailed the 
bill with warm approbation. This was Senator Balaam’s 
paper—or rather, “ Brother ” Balaam, as he was popularly 
called, for he had been a clergyman, in his day ; and he him¬ 
self and all that he did still emitted an odor of sanctity now 
that he had diverged into journalism and politics. He was a 
power in the Congressional prayer meeting, and in all move¬ 
ments that looked to the spread of religion and temperance. 
His paper supported the new bill with gushing affection; it 
was a noble measure; it was a just measure; it was a gen¬ 
erous measure; it was a pure measure, and that surely should 
recommend it in these corrupt times; and finally, if the 
nature of the bill were not known at all, the Love-Feast would 
support it anyway, and unhesitatingly, for the fact that Sen¬ 
ator Dilworthy was the originator of the measure was a guar¬ 
anty that it contemplated a worthy and righteous work. 

Senator Dilworthy was so anxious to know what the Hew 
York papers would say about the bill, that he had arranged 
to have synopses of their editorials telegraphed to him; he 
could not wait for the papers themselves to crawl along down 



UNNECESSARY PRECAUTION. 


to Washington by a mail train which has never run over a cow 
since the road was built, for the reason that it has never 
been able to overtake one. It carries the usual ‘‘ cow-catcher ^ 




















392 


PERSECUTION DESIRABLE. 


in front of the locomotive, but this is mere ostentation. 
It ought to be attached to the rear car, where it could 
do some good ; but instead, no provision is made there for the 
protection of the traveling public, and hence it is not a matter 



WHERE THE PROTECTION IS NEEDED. 


of surprise that cows so frequently climb aboard that train 
and among the passengers. 

The Senator read his dispatches aloud at the breakfast 
table. Laura was troubled beyond measure at their tone, and 
said that that sort of comment would defeat the bill; but the 
Senator said: 

‘‘ Oh, not at all, not at all, my child. It is just what we 
want. Persecution is the one thing needful, now—all the 
other forces are secured. Give us newspaper persecution 
enough, and we are safe. Vigorous persecution will alone 
carry a bill sometimes, dear; and when you start with a 
strong vote in the first place, persecution comes in with 
double effect. It scares off some of the weak supporters, true, 
but it soon turns strong ones into stubborn ones. And then, 
presently, it changes the tide of public opinion. The great 
public is weak-minded ; the great public is sentimental; the 
great public always turns around and weeps for an odious 
murderer, and prays for him, and carries fiowers to his prison 
and besieges the governor with appeals to his clemency, as soon 

































THE KIND OF EDITORIALS NEEDED. 393 

as the papers begin to howl for that man’s blood.—In a word, 
the great putty-hearted public loves to ^ gush/ and there is 



AN OBJECT OF SYMPATHY. 


no such darling opportunity to gush as a case of persecution 
affords.” 

Well, uncle, dear, if your theory is right, let us go into 
raptures, for nobody can ask a heartier persecution than these 
editorials are furnishing,’' 

“ I am not so sure of that, daughter. I don’t entirely 
like the tone of some of these remaiks. They lack vim, they 
lack venom. Here is one calls it a ‘ questionable measure.’ 
Bah, there is no strength in that. This one is better; it calls 
it ‘highway robbery.’ That sounds something like. But 
now this one seems satisfied to call it an ‘iniquitous scheme!’ 
—‘ Iniquitous ’ does not exasperate anybody; it is weak—puer¬ 
ile. The ignorant will imagine it to be intended for a com¬ 
pliment. But this other one—the one I read last—has the 
true ring; ‘ This vile, dirty effort to rob the public treasury, 
by the kites and vultures that now infest the filthy den called 






394 


THE BILL INTRODUCED. 


Congress’—that is admirable, admirable! We must have 
more of that sort. But it will come—no fear of that; they’re 
not warmed up, yet. A week from now you’ll see.” 

‘‘ Uncle, you and Brother Balaam are bosom friends—why 
don’t you get his paper to persecute us, too?” 

“ It isn’t worth while, my daughter. His support doesn’t 
hurt a bill. Hobody reads his editorials but himself. But I 
wish the New York papers would talk a little plainer. It is 
annoying to have to wait a week for them to warm up. I 
expected better things at their hands—and time is precious, 
now.” 

At the proper hour, according to his previous notice, Mr. 
Buckstone duly introduced his bill entitled An Act to 
Found and Incorporate the Knobs Industrial University,” 
moved its proper reference, and sat down. 

The Speaker of the House rattled off this observation: 

“ ’ Fnobjectionbilltakuzhlcourssoreferred 1” 

Habitues of the House comprehended that this long, light¬ 
ning-heeled word signilied that if there was no objection, the 
bill would take the customary course of a measure of its nature, 
and be referred to the Committee on Benevolent Appropria¬ 
tions, and that it was accordingly so referred. Strangers 
merely supposed that the Speaker w^as taking a gargle for 
some affection of the throat. 

The reporters immediately telegraphed the introduction 
of the bill.—And they added: 

“ The assertion that the bill will pass was premature. It is said that many 
favorers of it will desert when the storm breaks upon them from the public 
press.” 

The storm came, and during ten days it waxed more and 
more violent day by day. The great Negro University 
Swindle” became the one absorbing topic of conversation 
throughout the Union. Individuals denounced it, journals 
denounced it, public meetings denounced it, the pictorial 
papers caricatured its friends, the whole nation seemed to be 
growing frantic over it. Meantime the Washington corre¬ 
spondents were sending such telegrams as these abroad in the 
land : Undei date of— 


WHAT THE PRESS SAID, 396 

Saturday. “ Congressmen Jex and Fluke are wavering; it is believed they will 
desert the execrable bill.” 

Monday. “ Jex and Fluke have deserted! ” 

Thursday. “ Tubbs and Huffy left the sinking ship last night” 

Later on: 

“ Three desertions. The University thieves are getting scared, though they will 
not own it.” 

Later: 

“ The leaders are growing stubborn—they swear they can carry it, but it is 
now almost certain that they no longer have a majority ! ” 

After a day or two of reluctant and ambiguous tele¬ 
grams : 

“ Public sentiment seems changing, a trifle, in favor of the bill—but only a 
trifle.” 

And still later: 

“ It is whispered that the Hon. Mr, Trollop has gone over to the pirates. It 
is probably a canard. Mr. Trollop has all along been the bravest and most 
eflScient champion of virtue and the people against the bill, and the report is 
without doubt a shameless invention.” 

Next day: 

“ With characteristic treachery, the truckling and pusillanimous reptile, Crip¬ 
pled-Speech Trollop, has gone over to the enemy. It is contended, now, that he 
hat been a friend to the bill, in secret, since the day it was introduced, and has had 
bankable reasons for being so; but he himself declares that he has gone over 
because the malignant persecution of the bill by the newspapers caused him to 
study its provisions with more care than he had previously done, and this close 
examination revealed the fact that the measure is one in every way worthy of 
support. (Pretty thin !) It cannot be denied that this desertion has had a 
damaging effect. Jex and Fluke have returned to their iniquitous allegiance, 
with six or eight others of lesser calibre, and it is reported and believed that 
Tubbs and Huffy are ready to go back. It is feared that the University swindle 
is stronger to-day than it has ever been before.” 

Later—midnight: 

“ It is said that the committee will report the bill back to-morrow. Both 
sides are marshaling their forces, and the fight on this bill is evidently going t» 
be the hottest of the session.—^All Washington is boiling.” 


I 


CHAPTEK XLIY. 

Capienda rebus in mails prseceps via qsX.—S eneca. 

Et enim ipse se impellunt, ubi semel a ratione discessum est: Ipsaque eibl 
hnbecillitas indulget, in altumque provebitur imprudenter: nec reperet locum 
consistendi.— Cicero. 

TT’S easy enough for another fellow to talk,” said Harry, 

X clespondingly, after he had put Philip in possession of 
his view of the case. ‘‘ It’s easy enough to say ‘giveher up,’ 
if you don’t care for her. What am I going to do to give 
her up ? ” 

It seemed to Harry that it was a situation requiring some 
active measures. He couldn’t realize that he had fallen hope¬ 
lessly in love without some rights accruing to him for the 
possession of the object of his passion. Quiet resignation 
under relinquishment of any thing he wanted was notin his 
line. And when it appeared to him that his surrender of 
Laura would be the withdrawal of the one barrier that kept 
her from ruin, it was unreasonable to expect that he could see 
how to give her up. 

Harry had the most buoyant confidence in his own pro¬ 
jects always; he saw everything connected with himself in a 
large way and in rosy hues. This predominance of the imag¬ 
ination over the judgment gave that appearance of exagger¬ 
ation to his conversation and to his communications with 
regard to himself, which sometimes conveyed the impression 
that he was not speaking the truth. His acquaintances had 

396 


PHILIP IN WASHINGTON. 


397 


been known to say that they invariably allowed a half for 
shrinkage in his statements, and held the other half under 
advisement for confirmation. 

Philip in this case could not tell from Harry’s story ex¬ 
actly how much encouragement Laura had given him, nor 
what hopes he might justly have of winning her. He had 
never seen him desponding before. The brag ” appeared 
to be all taken out of him, and his airy manner only asserted 
itself now and then in a comical imitation of its old self. 

Philip wanted time to look about him before he decided 
what to do. He was not familiar with Washington, and it 
was difficult to adjust his feelings and perceptions to its pe¬ 
culiarities. Coming out of the sweet sanity of the Bolton 
household, this was by contrast the maddest Yanity Fair one 
could conceive. It seemed to him a feverish, unhealthy 
atmosphere in which lunacy would be easily developed. He 
fancied tliat everybody attached to himself an exaggerated 
importance, from the fact of being at the national capital, 
the center of political influence, the fountain of patronage, 
preferment, jobs and opportunities. 

People were introduced to each other as from this or that 
state, not from cities or towns, and this gave a largeness to 
their representative feeling. All the women talked politics 
as naturally and glibly as they talk fashion or literature 
elsewhere. There was always some exciting topic at the 
Capitol, or some huge slander was rising up like a miasmatic 
exhalation from the Potomac, tlireatening to settle no one 
knew exactly where. Every other person was an aspirant 
for a place, or, if he had one, for a better place, or more pay; 
almost every other one had some claim or interest or remedy 
to urge ; even the women were all advocates for the advance¬ 
ment of some person, and they violently espoused or denounced 
this or that measure as it w^ould affect some relative, ac¬ 
quaintance or friend. 

Love, travel, even death itself, waited on the chances of the 
dies daily thrown in the two Houses, and the committee 
rooms there. If the measure went through, love could afford 


398 


THE OLD CLAIMANTS. 


to ripen into marriage, and longing for foreign travel would 
have fruition; and it must have been only eternal hope 
springing in the breast that kept alive numerous old claimants 



CHILDREN OF HOPE. 


who for years and years had besieged the doors of Congress, 
and who looked as if they needed not so much an appropria¬ 
tion of money as six feet of ground. And those who stood 
so long waiting for success to bring them death were usually 
those who had a just claim. 

Eepresenting states and talking of national and even inter¬ 
national affairs, as familiarly as neighbors at home talk of 
poor crops and the extravagance of their ministers, was likely 
at first to impose upon Philip as to the importance of the 
people gathered here. 

There was a little newspaper editor from Phil’s native 
town, the assistant on a Peddletonian weekly, who made his 
little annual joke about the “ first egg laid on our table,” and 
who was the menial of every tradesman in the village and 
under bonds to him for frequent puffs,” except the under- 


































QUEER ACTS ACCOUNTED FOR. 


399 


taker, about whose employment he was recklessly facetious. 
In Washington he was an important man, correspondent, and 
clerk of tw^o house committees, a ‘‘ worker ” in politics, and a 
confident critic of every woman and every man in Washing¬ 
ton. He would be a consul no doubt by and by, at some 
foreign port, of the language of which he was ignorant- 
though if ignorance of lan¬ 
guage were a qualification 
he might have been a consul 
at home. His easy famil¬ 
iarity with great men was 
beautiful to see, and when 
Philip learned what a tre¬ 
mendous underground in¬ 
fluence this little ignoramus 
had, he no longer wondered 
at the queer appointments 
and the queerer legislation. 

Philip was not long in 
discovering that people in Washington did not differ much 
from other people; they had the same meannesses, generos¬ 
ities, and tastes. A Washington boarding house had the 
odor of a boarding house the world over. 

Col. Sellers was as unchanged as any one Philip saw w^hom 
he had known elsewhere. Washington appeared to be the 
native element of this man. His pretentions were equal to 
any he encountered there. He saw nothing in its society that 
equalled that of Hawkeye, he sat down to no table that could 
not be unfavorably contrasted with his own at home; the 
most airy scheme inflated in the hot air of the capital only 
reached in magnitude some of his lesser fancies, the by-play 
of his constructive imagination. 

The country is getting along very well,” he said to Philip, 
“but our public men are too timid. What we want is more 
money. IVe told Boutwell so. Talk about basing the cur¬ 
rency on gold; you might as well base it on pork. Gold is 



THE EDITOR. 



400 COL. SELLEliS’ YIEWS OF THE COUNTRY AND LAURA.; 

only one product. Base it on everything! You’ve got to 
do something for the West. How am 1 to move my crops ? 
We must have improvements. Grant’s got the idea. We 
want a canal from the James Biver to the Mississippi. Gov¬ 
ernment ought to build it.” 

It was difficult to get the Colonel off from these large 
themes when he was once started, but Philip brought the 
conversation round to Laura and her reputation in the City. 

“No,” he said, “I haven’t noticed much. We’ve been so 
busy about this University. It will make Laura rich with 
the rest of us, and she has done nearly as much as if she were 
a man. She has great talent, and will make a big match. I 
see the foreign ministers and that sort after her. Yes, there 
is talk, always will be abcut a pretty 'woman so much in public 
as she is. Tough stories come to me, but I put ’em away. 
’Taint likely one of Si. Hawkins’s children would do that—* 
for she is the same as a child of his. I told her, though, to 
go slow,” added the Colonel, as if that mysterious admonition 
from him would set everything right. 

“ Do you know anything about a Col. Selby ?” 

“ Know all about him. Fine fellow. But he’s got a wife; 
and I told him, as a friend, he’d better sheer off from Laura. 
I reckon he thought better of it and did.” 

But Philip was not long in learning the truth. Courted as 
Laura was by a certain class and still admitted into society, 
that, nevertheless, buzzed with disreputable stories about her, 
she had lost character with the best people. Her intimacy 
with Selby was open gossip, and there were winks and thrust- 
ings of the tongue in any group of men when she passed by. 
It was clear enough that Harry’s delusion must be broken up, 
and that no such feeble obstacle as his passion could inter¬ 
pose would turn Laura from her fate. Philip determined to 
see her, and put himself in possession of the truth, as he sus¬ 
pected it, in order to show Hariy his folly. 

Laura, after her last conversation with Harry, had a new 
sense of her position. She had noticed before the signs of a 


LAURA ON THE ALERT. 


401 


change in manner towards her, a little less respect perhaps 
from men, and an avoidance by women. She had attributed 
this latter partly to jealousy of her, for no one is willing to 
acknowledge a fault in himself when a more agreeable motive 
can be lound for the estrangement of his acquaintances. But, 
now, if society had turned on her, she would defy it. It was 
not in her nature to shrink. She knew she had been wronged, 
and she knew that she had no remedy. 

*What she heard of Col. Selby’s proposed departurealarmed 
her more than anything else, and she calmly determined that if 
he was deceiving her the second time it should be the last. 
Let society finish the tragedy if it liked; she wasindifferent what 
came after. At the first opportunity, she charged Selby with 
his intention to abandon her. He unblushingly denied it. 
He had not thought of going to Europe. He had only been 
amusing himself with Sellers’ schemes. He swore that as 
soon as she succeeded with her bill, he would fly with her to 
any part of the world. 

She did not quite believe him, for she saw that he feared 
her, and she began to suspect that his were the protestations 
of a coward to gain time. But she showed him no doubts. 
She only watched his movements day by day, and always held 
herself ready to act promptly. 

When Philip came into the presence of this attractive 
woman, he could not realize that she was the subject of all 
the scandal he had heard. She received him with quite the 
old Hawkeye openness and cordiality, and fell to talking at 
once of their little acquaintance there; and it seemed impos¬ 
sible that he could ever say to her what he had come deter¬ 
mined to say. Such a man as Philip has only one standard 
by which to judge women. 

Laura recognized that fact no doubt. The better part of 
her woman’s nature saw it. Such a man might, years ago, not 
now, have changed her nature, and made the issue of her life 
so different, even after her cruel abandonment. She had a 
dim feeling of this, and she would like now to stand well 
with him. The spark of truth and honor that was left in her 
2G- 


402 


PHILIP VISITS LAUKA.. 


was elicited by his presence. It was this influence that gov¬ 
erned her conduct in this interview. 

“ I have come,’’ said Philip in his direct manner, from 
my friend Mr. Erierly, You are not ignorant of his feeling 
towards you ?” 

“ Perhaps not.” 

But perhaps you do not know, you who have so much 
admiration, how sincere and overmastering his love is for 
you ?” Philip would not have spoken so plainly, if he had 
in mind anything except to draw from Laura something 
that would end Harry’s passion. 

“ And is sincere love so rare, Mr. Sterling ?” asked Laura, 
moving her foot a little, and speaking with a shade of sar¬ 
casm. 

“ Perhaps not in W ashington,” replied Philip, tempted 
into a similar tone. Excuse my bluntness,” he continued, 
“ but would the knowledge of his love, would his devotion, 
make any difference to you in your Washington life ?” 

“ In respect to what ? ” asked Laura quickly. 

“Well, to others. I won’t equivocate—to Col. Selby?” 

Laura’s face flushed with anger, or shame; she looked 
steadily at Philip and began, 

“By what right, sir,—” 

“ By the right of friendship,” interrupted Philip stoutly. 
“ It may matter little to you. It is everything to him. He 
has a Quixotic notion that you would turn back from what 
is before you for his sake. You cannot be ignorant of what 
all the city is talking of.” Philip said this determinedly and 
with some bitterness. 

It was a full minute before Laura spoke. Both had risen, 
Philip as if to go, and Laura in suppressed excitement. 
When she spoke her voice was very unsteadjq and she looked 
down, 

“ Yes, I know. I perfectly understand what you mean. Mi. 
Brierly is nothing—simply nothing. He is a moth singed, that 
is all—the trifler with women thought he was a wasp. I 
have no pity for him, not the least. You may tell ^»’m not 


SAD REFLECTIONS. 


403 


to make a fool of himself, and to keep away. I say this on 
your account, not his. You are not like him. It is enough 
for me that you want it so. Mr. Sterling,” she continued, 
looking up, and there were tears in her eyes that contradicted 
the hardness of her language, “ you might not pity him if 
you knew my history ; perhaps you would not wonder at some 
things you hear. ^lo ; it is useless to ask me why it must be 
so. You can’t make a life over—society wouldn’t let you if 
you would—and mine must be lived as it is. There, sir, I’m 
not offended; but it is useless for you to say anything more.” 

Philip went away with his heart lightened about Harry, 
but profoundly saddened by the glimpse of what this woman 
might have been. He told Harry all that was necessary of 
the conversation—she was bent on going her own way, he 
had not the ghost of a chance—he was a fool, she had said, 
for thinking he had. 

And Harry accepted it meekly, and made up his own mind 
that Philip didn’t know much about women. 






































































CHAPTER XLV. 


Nakila cu ch’y cu yao chike, clii ka togobah cu y vach, x-e u chax-cut?— 
Utz, chi ka ya puvak chyve, x-e cha-cu ri amag. 

Popul Vuh. 

T he galleries of the House were packed, on the momentous 
day, not because the reporting of an important bill back 
by a committee was a thing to be excited about, if the bill 
were going to take the ordinary course afterward ; it would 
be like getting excited over the empaneling of a coroner’s 
jury in a murder case, instead of saving up one’s emotions 
for the grander occasion of the hanging of the accused, two 
years later, after all the tedious forms of law had been gone 
through with. 

But suppose you understand that this coroner’s jury 
is going to turn out to be a vigilance committee in disguise, 
who will hear testimony for an hour and then hang the mur¬ 
derer on the spot ? That puts a different aspect upon the 
matter. How it was whispered that the legitimate forms of 
procedure usual in the House, and which keep a bill hanging 
along for days and even weeks, before it is finally passed 
upon, were going to be overruled, in this case, and short work 
made of the measure ; and so, what was beginning as a mere 
inquest might turn out to be something very different. 

In the course of the day’s business the Order of “ Beports 
of Committees” was finally reached and when the weary 
crowds heard that glad announcement issue from the Speaker’s 
lips they ceased to fret at the dragging delay, and plucked up 
spirit. The Chairman of the Committee on Benevolent 

404 


ISENATOR DILWORTHY’S PRIVATE LETTER. 


405 


Appropriations rose and made liis report, and just then a blue- 
uniformed brass-mounted little page put a note into his hand. 
It was from Senator Dilworthy, who had appeared upon the 
floor of the House for a moment and flitted away again: 

“ Everybody expects a grand assault in force; no doubt you believe, as I cer¬ 
tainly do, that it is the thing to do; we are strong, and everything is hot for the 
contest. Trollop’s espousal of our cause has immensely helped us and we grow 
in power constantly. Ten of the opposition were called away from town about 
noon (hut —so it is said —only for one day). Six others are sick, but expect to be 
about again to-morrow or next day.^ a friend tells me. A bold onslaught is worth 
trying. Go for a suspension of the rules ! You will find we can swing a two- 
thirds vote—I am perfectly satisfied of it. The Lord’s truth will prevail. 

“ Dilwortht. 

Mr. Buckstone had reported the bills from his committee, 
one by one, leaving the bill to the last. When the House 
had voted upon the acceptance or rejection of the report 



CHAIRMAN OF THE COMMITTEE. 

upon all but it, and the question now being upon its disposal— 
Mi\ Buckstone begged that the House would give its atten¬ 
tion to a few remarks which he desired to make. His com¬ 
mittee had instructed him to report the bi^^ favorably ; he 


406 


MR. BUCKSTONE ADDRESSES THE HOUSE. 


wished to explain the nature of the measure, and thus justify 
the committee’s action ; the hostility roused by the press 
would then disappear, and the bill would shine forth in its 
true and noble character. He said that its provisions were 
simple. It incorporated the Knobs Industrial University, 
locating it in East Tennessee, declaring it open to all persons 
without distinction of sex, color or' religion, and committing 
its management to a board of perpetual trustees, with power 
to fill vacancies in their own number. It provided for the 
erection of certain buildings for the University, dormitories, 
lecture-halls, museums, libraries, labratories, work-shops, fur¬ 
naces, and mills. It provided also for the purchase of sixty- 
five thousand acres of land, (fully described) for the purposes 
of the University, in the Knobs of East Tennessee. And it 
appropriated [blank] dollars for the purchase of the Land, 
which should be the property of the national trustees in trust 
for the uses named. 

Every eftbrt had been made to secure the refusal of the 
whole amount of the property of the Hawkins heirs in the 
Knobs, some seventy-five thousand acres Mr. Buckstone said. 
But Mr. Washington Hawkins (one of the heirs) objected. 
He was, indeed, very reluctant to sell any part of the land at 
any price; and indeed this reluctance was justifiable when 
one considers how constantly and how greatly the property 
is rising in value. 

What the South needed, continued Mr. Buckstone, was 
skilled labor. Without that it would be unable to develop 
its mines, build its roads, work to advantage and without 
great waste its fruitful land, establish manufactures or enter 
upon a prosperous industrial career. Its laborers were 
almost altogether unskilled. Change them into intelligent, 
trained workmen, and you increased at once the capital, the 
resources of the entire south, which would enter upon a 
prosperity hitherto unknown. In five years the increase in 
local wealth would not only reimburse the government for the 
outlay in this appropriation, but pour untold wealth into the 
trea^^ury 


OBJECT OF THE KNOBS INDUSTRIAL SCHOOL. 407 

This was the material view, and the least important in the 
honorable gentleman’s opinion. [Here he referred to some 
notes furnished him by Senator Dilworthy, and then con¬ 
tinued.] God had given us the care of these colored millions. 
What account shoulc* we render to Him of our stewardship ? 
We had made them ree. Should we leave them ignorant? 
We had cast them apon their own resources. Should we 
leave them without tools ? We could not tell what the inten¬ 
tions of Providence are in regard to these peculiar people, but 
our duty was plain. The Knobs Industrial University would 
be a vast school of modern science and practice, worthy of a 
great nation. It ’would combine the advantages of Zurich, 
Freiburg, Creuzot and the Sheffield Scientific. Providence 
had apparently reserved and set apart the Knobs of East 
Tennessee for this purpose. What else were they for? Was 
it not wonderful that for more than thirty years, over a gen¬ 
eration, the choicest portion of them had remained in one 
family, untouched, as if consecrated for some great use ! 

It might be asked why the government should buy this 
land, when it had millions of acres, more than the railroad 
companies desired, which it might devote to this purpose ? 
He answ^ered, that the government had no such tract of land 
as this. It had nothing comparable to it for the purposes of 
the University. This was to be a school of mining, of engi¬ 
neering, of the working of metals, of cliemistry, zoology, 
botany, manufactures, agriculture, in short of all the com¬ 
plicated industries that make a state great. There was no 
place for the location of such a school like the Knobs of East 
Tennessee. The hills abounded in metals of all sorts, iron in 
all its combinations, copper, bismuth, gold and silver in small 
quantities, platinum he believed, tin, aluminium; it was covered 
with forests and strange plants; in the woods were found the 
coon, the opossum, the fox, the deer and many other animals 
who roamed in the domain of natural history ; coal existed in 
enormous quantity and no doubt oil; it was such a place for 
the practice of agricultural experiments that any student who 


408 


A NOISY DEBATE. 


had been successful there would have an easy task in any 
other portion of the country. 

'No place offered equal facilities for experiments in mining, 
metallurgy, engineering. He expected to live to see the 
day when the youth of the south would resort to its mines, 
its workshops, its labratories, its fun ices and factories for 
practical instruction in all the great inc istrial pursuits. 

A noisy and rather ill-natured debate followed, now, and 
lasted hour after hour. The friends of the bill were instruct¬ 
ed by the leaders to make no effort to check this j it was 
deemed better strategy to tire out the opposition; it was de- 
,cided to vote down every proposition to adjourn, and so con- 



THE HOUSE. 


tinue the sitting into the night; opponents might desert, then, 
one by one and weaken their party, for they had no personal 
stake in the bill. 

Sunset came, and still the fight went on ; the gas was lit, 
the crowd in the galleries began to thin, but the contest con¬ 
tinued ; the crowd returned, by and by, with hunger and 
thirst appeased, and aggravated the hungry and thirsty House 
by looking contented and comfortable \ but still the wrangle 
lost nothing of its bitterness. Hecesses were moved plain¬ 
tively by the opposition, and invariably voted down by the 
University army. 







THE HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT. 


409 


At midnight the House presented a spectacle calculated to 
interest a stranger. The great galleries were still thronged 
—though only with men, now; the bright colors that had 
made them look like hanging gardens w’ere gone, with the 
ladies. The reporters’ gallery was merely occupied by one or 
two watchful sentinels of the quill-driving guild; the main 
body cared nothing for a debate that had dwindled to a mere 
vaporing cf dull speakers and now and then a brief quarrel 
over a point of order; but there was an unusually large 
attendance of journalists in the reporters’ waiting-room, chat¬ 
ting, smoking, and keeping on the qui vive for the general 
irruption of the Congressional volcano that must come when 
the time was ripe for it. Senator Dilworthy and Philip were 
in the Diplomatic Gallery ; ashington sat in the public gal¬ 
lery, and Col. Sellers was not far away. The Colonel had 
been flying about the corridors and button-holing Congress¬ 
men all the evening, and believed that he had accomplished a 
world of valuable service; but fatigue was telling upon him, 
now, and he was quiet and speechless—for once. Below, a 
few Senators lounged upon the sofas set apart for visitors, 
and talked with idle Congressmen. A dreary member was 
speaking; the presiding officer was nodding ; here and there 
little knots of members stood in the aisles, whispering to¬ 
gether ; all about the House others sat in all the various atti¬ 
tudes that express weariness; some, tilted back, had one or 
more legs disposed upon their desks ; some sharpened pencils 
indolently; some scribbled aimlessly; some yawned and 
stretched; a great many lay upon their breasts upon the 
desks, sound asleep and gently snoring. The flooding gas¬ 
light from the fancifully wrought roof poured down upon 
the tranquil scene. Hardly a sound disturbed the stillness, 
save the monotonous eloquence of the gentleman who occu¬ 
pied the floor. How and then a warrior of the opposition 
broke down under the pressure, gave it up and went home. 

Mr. Buckstone began to think it might be safe, now, to 
‘‘ proceed to business.” He consulted with Trollop and one 
or two others. Senator Dilworthy descended to the floor of 


410 


PRESSING A VOTE. 


the House and they went to meet him. After a brief com¬ 
parison of notes, the Congressmen sought their seats and sent 
pages about the House with messages to friends. These lat¬ 
ter instantly roused up, yawned, and began to look alert. 
The moment the floor was unoccupied, Mr. Buckstone rose, 
with an injured look, and said it was evident that the oppo¬ 
nents of the bill were merely talking against time, hoping in 
this unbecoming way to tire out the friends of the measure 
and so defeat it. Such conduct might be respectable enough 
in a village debating society, but it was trivial among states¬ 
men, it was out of place in so august an assemblage as the 
House of Bepresentatives of the United States. The friends 
of the bill had been not only willing that its opponents should 
express their opinions, but had strongly desired it. They 
courted the fullest and freest discussion; but it seemed to 
him that this fairness was but illy appreciated, since gentle¬ 
men were capable of taking advantage of it for selflsh and 
unworthy ends. This trifling had gone far enough. He 
called for the question. 

The instant Mr. Buckstone sat down, the storm burst forth. 
A dozen gentlemen sprang to their feet. 

“ Mr. Speaker ! ” 

“ Mr. Speaker ! ” 

Mr. Speaker ! ’’ 

“ Order! Order! Order! Question! Question! ” 

The sharp blows of the Speaker’s gavel rose above the din. 

The “previous question,” that hated gag, was moved and 
carried. All debate came to a sudden end, of course. 
Triumph Ho. 1. 

Then the vote was taken on the adoption of the report and 
it carried by a surprising majority. 

Mr. Buckstone got the floor again and moved that the rules 
be suspended and the bill read a first time. 

Mr. Trollop —“ Second the motion ! ” 

The Speaker —“ It is moved and—” 

Clamor of Voices. “ Move we adjourn! Second the 
motion! Adjourn ! Adjourn ! Order ! Order 1 ” 


SUSPENDING THE RULES. 


411 


The Speaher^ (after using his gavel vigorously)—“ It is 
moved and seconded that the House do now adjourn. All 
those in favor—” 

Yoices—^^ Division! Division ! Ayes and nays ! Ayes 
and nays! ” 

It was decided to vote upon the adjournment by ayes and 
nays. This was war in earnest. The excitement was furious. 
The galleries were in commotion in an instant, the reporters 
swarmed to their places, idling members of the House flocked 
to their seats, nervous gentlemen sprang to their feet, pages 
flew hither and thither, life and animation were visible every¬ 
where, all the long ranks of faces in the building were 
kindled. 

“This thing decides it!” thought Mr. Buckstone; “but 
let the fight proceed.” 

The voting began, and every sound ceased but the calling 
f the names and the “Aye ! ” “No!” “No!” “Aye!” 

of the responses. There was not a movement in the House ; 
the people seemed to hold their breath. 

The voting ceased, and then there was an interval of dead 
silence while the clerk made up his count. There was a two- 
thirds vote on the University side—and two over ! 

The Speaker —“ The rules are suspended, the motion is 
carried—first reading of the hill 

By one impulse the galleries broke forth into stormy 
applause, and even some of the members of the House were 
not wholly able to restrain their feelings. The Speaker’s 
gavel came to the rescue and his clear voice followed: 

“ Order, gentlemen ! The House will come to order! If 
spectators offend again, the Sergeant-at-arms will clear the 
galleries !” 

Then he cast his eyes aloft aud gazed at some object atten¬ 
tively for a moment. All eyes followed the direction of the 
Speaker’s, and then there was a general titter. The Speaker 
said: 

“ Let the Sergeant-at Arms inform the gentleman that his 
conduct is an infringement of the dignity of the House—and 


412 


SHAEP FIGHTING. 


one which is not warranted by the state of the weather.” 

Poor Sellers was the culprit. He sat in the front seat of 
the gallery, with his arms and his tired body overflowing the 
balustrade—sound asleep, dead to all excitements, all disturb- 
u-nces. The fluctuations of the Washington weather had 
influenced his dreams, perhaps, for during the recent tempest 
of applause he had hoisted his gingham umbrella and calmly 
gone on with his slumbers. Washington Hawkins had seen 
the act, but was not near enough at hand to save his friend, 
and no one who was near enough desired to spoil the effect. 
But a neighbor stirred up the Colonel, now that the House 
had its eye upon him, and the great speculator furled his tent 
like the Arab. He said : 

Bless my soul, I’m so absent-minded vdien I get to think¬ 
ing ! I never wear an umbrella in the house—did anybody 
notice it ? What—asleep ? Indeed ? And did yoj wake 
me sir ? Thank you—thank you very much indeed. It 
might have fallen out of my hands and been injured. Admir¬ 
able article, sir—present from a friend in Hong Kong; one 
doesn’t come across silk like that in this country—it’s the real 
Young Hyson, I’m told.” 

By this time the incident was forgotten, for the House was 
at war again. Victory was almost in sight, now, and the 
friends of the bill threw themselves into their work with 
enthusiasm. They soon moved and carried i:s second read¬ 
ing, and after a strong, sharp flght, carried a motion to go 
into Committee of the whole. The Speaker left his place, 
of course, and a chairman was appointed. 

How the contest raged hotter than ever—for the authority 
that compels order when the House sits as a House, is greatly 
diminished when it sits as Committee. The main flght 
c^me upon the Ailing of the blanks with the sum to be appro¬ 
priated for the purchase of the land, >f course. 

Ifr. Buclcsione —‘‘Mr. Chairman, I move you, sir, that the 
words three rmllions of be inserted.” 

Mr. Hadley —“ Mr. Chairman, I move that the words twQ 
and a half dollars be inserted.” 



COL„ SKLLEIiS aSLEEP IN HOUSE KEPRESENTATIVES 




















































































































































































































VICTOKY ! THE BILL PASSED. 


413 


Mr, Clawson —“ Mr. Chairman, I move the insertion of 
the words jwe and twenty cents^ as representing the true 
value of this barren and isolated tract of desolation.” 

The question, according to rule, was taken upon the small¬ 
est sum first. It was lost. 

Then upon the next smallest sum. Lost, also. 

And then upon the three millions. After a vigorous battle 
that lasted a considerable time, this motion was carried. 

Then, clause by clause the bill was read, discussed, and 
amended in trifling particulars, and now the Committee rose 
and reported. 

The moment the House had resumed its functions and re¬ 
ceived the report, Mr. Buckstone moved and carried the third 
reading of the bill. 

The same bitter war over the sum to be paid was fought 
over again, and now that the ayes and nays could be called 
and placed on record, every man was compelled to vote by 
name on the three millions, and indeed on every paragraph 
of the bill from the enacting clause straight through. But as 
before, the friends of the measure stood firm and voted in a 
solid body every time, and so did its enemies. 

The supreme moment was come, now, but so sure was the 
result that not even a voice was raised to interpose an ad* 
journment. The enemy were totally demoralized. The bill 
was put upon its final passage almost without dissent, and 
the calling of the ayes and nays began. When it was ended 
the triumph was complete—the two-thirds vote held good, 
and a veto was impossible, as far as the House was con¬ 
cerned ! 

Mr. Buckstone resolved that now that the nail was driven 
home, he would clinch it on the other side and make it stay 
forever. He moved a reconsideration of the vote by which 
the bill had passed. The motion was lost, of course, and the 
great Industrial University act was an accomplished fact as 
far as it was in the power of the House of Kepresentatives to 
make it so. 

There was no need to move an adjournment. The instant 


414 


CASTLES IN THE AIR. 


the last motion was decided, the enemies of the University 
rose and flocked out of the Hall, talking angrily, and its 
friends flocked after them jubilant and congratulatory. The 
galleries disgorged their burden, and presently the House 
was silent and deserted. 

When Col. Sellers and Washington stepped out of the 
building they were surprised to And that the daylight was 
old and the sun well up. Said the Colonel: 

“ Give me your hand, my boy ! You’re all right at last! 
You’re a millionaire! At least you’re going to be. The 



A HEARTY SHAKE. 


thing is dead sure. Don’t you bother about the Senate. 
Leave me and Dilworthy to take care of that. Run along 
home, now, and tell Laura. Lord, it’s magnificent news— 
perfectly magnificent! Run, now. I’ll telegraph my wife. 
She must come here and help me build a house. Every¬ 
thing’s all right now ! ” 

Washington was so dazed by his good fortune and so be¬ 
wildered by the gaudy pageant of dreams that was already 
























FROM UNDER THE CLOUDS. 


415 


trailing its long ranks through his brain, that he wandered 
he knew not where, and so loitered by the way that when at 
last he reached home he woke to a sudden annoyance in the 
fact that his new^s must he old to Laura, now, for of course 
Senator Dilworthy must have already been home and told 
her an hour before. He knocked at her door, but there was 
no answer. 

That is like the Duchess,” said he. ‘‘ Always cool. A 
body can’t excite her—can’t keep her excited, anyway. How 
she has gone off to sleep again, as comfortably as if she were 
used to picking up a million dollars every day or two.” 

Then he went to bed. But he could not sleep; so he got 
up and wrote a long, rapturous letter to Louise, and another 
to his mother. And he closed both to much the same effect: 

“Laura will be queen of America, now, and she will be applauded, and hon¬ 
ored and petted by the whole nation. Her name will be in every one’s mouth 
more than ever, and how they will court her and quote her bright speeches. 
And mine, too, I suppose; though they do that more already, than they really 
seem to deserve. Oh, the world is so bright, now, and so cheery; the clouds are 
all gone, our long struggle is ended, our troubles are all over. Nothing can ever 
make us unhappy any more. You dear faithful ones will have the reward of 
your patient waiting now. How father’s wisdom is proven at last! And how I 
repent me, that there have been times when 1 lost faith and said the blessing 
he stored up for us a tedious generation ago was but a long-drawn curse, a 
blight upon us all. But everything is well, now—we are done with poverty, 
and toil, weariness and heart-breakings; all the world is tilled with sunshine.” 


CHAPTER XLVI. 


Forte k I’aceto di vin dolce. 

Ne bi^ swylc cw^nlic peaw 
idese to efnanne, 

Jje41i de hi 6 senlicu sy, 
Jjsette freo(?u-webbe 
feores onsaece, 
aefter lig-tome, 
leofne mannan. 


P hilip left the capItol and walked up Pennsylvania 
Avenue in company with Senator Dilwortliy. It was a 
bright spring morning, the air was soft and inspiring; in the 
deepening wayside green, the pink flush of the blossoming 
peach trees, the soft suffusion on the heights of Arlington, 
and the breath of the warm south wind was apparent the 
annual miracle of the resurrection of the earth. 

The Senator took ofi* his hat and seemed to open his soul 
to the sweet influences of the morning. After the heat and 
noise of the chamber, under its dull gas-illuminated glass 
canopy, and the all night struggle of passion and feverish 
excitement there, the open, tranquil world seemed like 
Heaven. The Senator was not in an exultant mood, but rather 
in a condition of holy joy, befitting a Christian statesman 
whose benevolent plans Providence has made its own and 
stamped with approval. The great battle had been fought, 
but the measure had still to encounter the scrutiny of the 
Senate, and Providence sometimes acts difierently in the two 
Houses. Still the Senator was tranquil, for he knew that 

416 


DISINTERESTEDNESS OF THE SENATOR. 


417 


there is an esjprit de corjps in the Senate which does not exist 
in tlie House, the effect of which is to make the members 
complaisant towards the projects of each other, and to extend 
a mutual aid which in a more vulgar body would be called 
log-rolling.” 

It is, under Providence, a good night’s work, Mr. Sterl¬ 
ing. The government has founded an institution which will 



SENATOR DILWORTHY TRANQUIL. 


remove half the difficulty from the Southern problem. And 
it is a good thing for the Hawkins heirs, a very good thing. 
Laura will be almost a millionaire.” 

“ Ho you think, Mr. Hilworthy, that the Hawkinses wdll get 
much of the money % ” asked Philip innocently, remembering 
the fate of the Columbus Piver appropriation. 

The Senator looked at his companion scrutinizingly for a 
moment to see if he meant any thing personal, and then 
replied, 

^‘Undoubtedly, undoubtedly. I have had their interests 
greatly at heart. There will of course be a few expenses, 
but the widow and orphans will realize all that Mr. Hawkins 
dreamed of for them.” 

The birds were singing as they crossed the Presidential 
Square, now bright with its green turf and tender foliage. 
After the two had gained the steps of the Senator’s house 
they stood a moment, looking upon the lovely prospect. 

27- 















418 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 


“ It is like the peace of God,’’ said the Senator devoutly. 

Entering the house, the Senator called a servant and said, 
“ Tell Miss Laura that we are waiting to see her. I ought to 
have sent a messenger on horseback half an hour ago,” he 
added to Philip, she will be transported with our victory. 
You must stop to breakfast, and see the excitement.” The 
servant soon came back, with a wondering look and reported, 



“ SHE ain’t dah, sah ! ” 

“ Miss Laura ain’t dah, sah. I reckon she hain’t been dah all 
night.” 

The Senator and Philip both started up. In Laura’s room 
there were the marks of a confused and hasty departure, 
drawers half open, little articles strewn on the floor. The 
bed had not been disturbed. Upon inquiry it appeared that 
Laura had not been at dinner, excusing herself to Mrs. Dil- 
worthy on the plea of a violent headache ; that she made a 
request to the servants tliat she might not be disturbed. 

The Senator was astounded. Philip thought at once of 
Col. Selby. Could Laura have run away with him? The 


























DISAPPEARANCE OF LAURA AND HARRY. 419 

Senator thought not. In fact it could not be. Gen. Leffen- 
well, the member from New Orleans, had casually told him 
at the house last night that Selby and his family went to New 
York yesterday morning and were to sail for Europe to-day. 

Philip had another idea which he did not mention. He 
seized his hat, and saying that he would go and see what he 
could learn, ran to the lodgings of Harry, whom he had not 
seen since yesterday afternoon, when he left him to go to 
the House. 

Harry was not in. He had gone out with a hand-bag before 
six o’clock yesterday, saying that he had to go to New York, 
but should return next day. In Harry’s room on the table 
Philip found this note:— 

“Dear Mr. Brierly:—Can you meet me at the six o’clock train, and be my 
escort to New York ? I have to go about this University bill, the vote of an 
absent member we must have here. Senator Dilworthy cannot go. 

. Yours &c., L. H.” 

Confound it,” said Philip, the noodle has fallen into 
her trap. And she promised me she would let him alone.” 

He only stopped to send a note to Senator Dilworthy, tell¬ 
ing him what he had found, and that he should go at once to 
New York, and then hastened to the railway station. He 
had to wait an hour for a train, and when it did start it 
seemed to go at a snail’s pace. 

Philip was devoured with anxiety. Where could they 
have gone ? What was Laura’s object in taking Harry ? Had 
the flight anything to do with Selby ? Would Harry be such 
a fool as to be dragged into some public scandal ? 

It seemed as if the train would never reach Baltimore. 
Then there was a long delay at Havre de Grace. A hot box 
had to be cooled at Wilmington. Would it never get on? 
Only in passing around the city of Philadelphia did the train 
not seem to go slow. Philip stood upon the platform and 
watched for the Boltons’ house, fancied he could distinguish 
its roof among the trees, and wondered how Puth would feel 
if she knew he was so near her. 

Then came Jersey, everlasting Jersey, stupid irritating Jersey, 


420 


PHILIP HEAPS TERRIBLE NEWS. 


where the passengers are always asking which line tliey are 
on, and where they are to come out, and whether they have 
yet reached Elizabeth. Launched into Jersey, one lias a vague 
notion that he is on many lines and no one in particular, and 
that he is liable at any moment to come to Elizabeth. He has 
no notion what Elizabeth is, and always resolves that the next 
time he goes that way he will look out of the window and see 
what it is like ; but he never does. Or if he does, he probably 
finds that it is Princeton or something of that sort. He gets 
annoyed, and never can see the use of having different names for 
stations in Jersey. By and by there is Newark, tliree or four 
Newarks apparently; then marshes, then long rock cuttings 
devoted to the advertisements of patent medicines and ready¬ 
made clothing, and New York tonics for Jersey agues, and— 
Jersey City is reached. 

On the ferry-boat Philip bought an evening paper from a 
boy crying “ ’Ere’s i\\Q Evening Grarn^ all about the murder,” 
and with breathless haste ran his eyes over the following :— 

SHOCKING MURDER! ! ! 

TRAGEDY IN HIGH LIFE ! ! A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN SHOOTS A DISTINGUISHED CONFEDER¬ 
ATE SOLDIER AT THE SOUTHERN HOTEL ! ! ! JEALOUSY THE CAUSE ! ! ! ! 

This morning occurred another of those shocking murders which have become 
the almost daily food of the newspapers, the direct result of the socialistic doc¬ 
trines and woman’s rights agitations, which have made every woman the avenger 
of her own wrongs, and all society the hunting ground for her victims. 

About nine o’clock a lady deliberately shot a man dead in the public parlor 
of the Southern Hotel, coolly remarking, as she threw down her revolver and 
permitted herself to be taken into custody, “He brought it on himself.” Our 
reporters were immediately dispatched to the scene of the tragedy, and gathered 
the following particulars. 

Yesterday afternoon arrived at the hotel from Washington, Col. George Selby 
and family, who had taken passage and were to sail at noon to-day in the steamer 
Scotia for England. The Colonel was a handsome man about forty, a gentleman 
of wealth and high social position, a resident of New Orleans. He served with 
distinction in the confederate army, and received a wound in the leg from wdiicli 
he has never entirely recovered, being obliged to use a cane in locomotion. 

This morning at about nine o’clock, a lady, accompanied by a gentleman, 
ealled at the office of the hotel and asked for Col. Selby. The Colonel was at 
breakfast. Would the clerk tell him that a lady and gentleman wished to see 
him for a moment in the parlor ? The clerk says that the gentleman asked her 
“ What do you want to see Aim for?” and that she replied, “He is going to 
Europe, and I ought to just say good by.” 


REPORT OF THE SHOCKING MURDER. 


421 


Ool. Selby was informed, and the lady and gentleman were shown to the par¬ 
lor, in which were at the time three or four other persons. Five minutes after 
two shots were fired in quick succession, and there was a rush to the parlor from 
which the reports came. 

Col. Selby was found lying on the floor, bleeding, but not dead. Two gentle¬ 
men, who had just come in, had seized the lady, who made no resistance, and 
she was at once given in charge of a police officer who arrived. The persons 
who were in the parlor agree substantially as to what occurred. They had hap¬ 
pened to be looking towards the door when the man—Col. Selby—entered with 
his cane, and they looked at him, because he stopped as if surprised and fright¬ 
ened, and made a backward movement. At the same moment the lady in the 
bonnet advanced towards him and said something like, “ George, will you go 
with me ?” He replied, throwing up his hand and retreating, “ My God ! I can’t, 
don’t fire,” and the next instant two shots were heard and he fell. The lady 
appeared to be beside herself with rage or excitement, and trembled very much 
when the gentlemen took hold of her; it was to them she said, “ He brought it 
on himself.” 

Col. Selby was carried at once to his room and Dr. Puffer, the eminent sur¬ 
geon, was sent for. It was found that he was shot through the breast and 
through the abdomen. Other aid was summoned, but the wounds were mortal, 
and Col. Selby expired in an hour, in pain, but his mind was clear to the last, 
and he made a full deposition. The substance of it was that his murderess is a 
Miss Laura Hawkins, whom he had known at Washington as a lobbyist, and had 
had some business with her. She had followed him with her attentions and 
solicitations, and had endeavored to make him desert his wife and go to Europe 
with her. When he resisted and avoided her, she had threatened him. Only 
the day before he left Washington she had declared that he should never go out 
of the city alive without her. 

It seems to have been a deliberate and premeditated murder, the woman fol¬ 
lowing him from Washington on purpose to commit it. 

We learn that the murderess, who is a woman of dazzling and transcendent 
beauty and about twenty-six or seven, is a niece of Senator Dilworthy, at whose 
house she has been spending the winter. She belongs to a high Southern fam¬ 
ily, and has the reputation of being an heiress. Like some other great beauties 
and belles in Washington however there have been whispers that she had some¬ 
thing to do with the lobby. If we mistake not we have heard her name men¬ 
tioned in connection with the sale of the Tennessee Lands to the Knobs Univer¬ 
sity, the bill for which passed the House last night. 

Her companion is Mr. Harry Briefly, a New York dandy, who has been in 
Washington. His connection with her and with this tragedy is not known, but 
he was also taken into custody, and will be detained at least as a witness. 

P. S. One of the persons present in the parlor says that after Laura Hawkins 
had fired twice, she turned the pistol towards herself, but that Briefly sprang 
and caught it from her hand, and that it was he who threw it on the floor. 

Further particulars with full biographies of all the parties in our next edition. 

Philip hastened at once to the Sontliern Hotel, where he 


4:22 


REVENGE AT LAST. 


found still a great state of excitement, and a thousand differ¬ 
ent and exaggerated stories passing from mouth to mouth. 
The witnesses of the event had told it over so many times 
that they had worked it up into a most dramatic scene, and 
embellished it wdth whatever could heighten its awfulness. 
Outsiders had taken up invention also. The Colonel’s wife 
had gone insane, they said. The children had rushed into the 



AS THE WITNESSES DESCRIBED IT. 


parlor and rolled themselves in their father’s blood. The 
hotel clerk said that he noticed there was murder in the 
woman’s eye when he saw her. A person who had met the 
woman on the stairs felt a creeping sensation. Some thought 
Brierly was an accomplice, and that he had set the woman 
on to kill his rival. Some said the woman showed the 
calmness and indifference of insanity. 

Philip learned that Harry and Laura had both been taken 
to the city prison, and he went there ; but he was not admitted. 
Hot being a newspaper reporter, he could not see either of 
them that night; but the officer questioned him suspiciously 











IMPOKTANT OFFICIAL INVESTIGATION. 423 

and asked him who he was. He might perhaps see Brierly in 
the morning. 

The latest editions of the evening papers had the result of 
the inquest. It was a plain enough case for the jury, but 
they sat over it a long time, listening to the wrangling of the 
physicians. Dr. Puffer insisted that the man died from the ef¬ 
fects of the wound in the chest. Dr. Dobb as strongly in- 



THE LEARNED DOCTORS. 


sisted that the wound in the abdomen caused death. Dr. 
Golightly suggested that in his opinion death ensued from a 
complication of the two wounds and perhaps other causes. 
He examined the table "waiter, as to whether Col. Selby ate 
any breakfast, and what he ate, and if he had any appetite. 

The jury finally threw themselves back upon the indisputable 
fact that Selby was dead, that either wound would have killed 
him (admitted by the doctors), and rendered a verdict that he 
died from pistol-shot wounds inflicted by a pistol in the hands 
of Laura Hawkins. 

The morning papers blazed with big type, and overflowed 
with details of the murder. The accounts in the evening 
papers were only the premonitory drops to this mighty 
shower. The scene was dramatically worked up in column 
after column. There were sketches, biographical and histori¬ 
cal. There were long specials” from Washington, giving a 
full history of Laura’s career there, with the names of men 




424 


UNOFFICIAL INVESTIGATION. 


with whom she was said to be intimate, a description of Sen¬ 
ator Dilworthy’s residence and of his family, and of Laura’s 
room in his house, and a sketch of the Senator’s appearance and 
what he said. There was a great deal about her beauty, her 
accomplishments and her brilliant position in society, and her 
doubtful position in society. There was also an interview 
with Col. Sellers and another with Washington Hawkins, 
the brother of the murderess. One journal had a long dis¬ 
patch from Hawkeye, reporting the excitement in that quiet 
village and the reception of the awful intelligence. 

All the parties had been interviewed.” There were re¬ 
ports of conversations with the clerk at the hotel; with the 
call-boy; with the w^aiter at table, with all the witnesses, 
with the policeman, with the landlord (who wanted it under- 



IMPORTANT BUSINESS. 


stood tnat nothing of that sort had ever happened in his 
house before, although it had always been frequented by 
the best Southern society,) and with Mrs. Col. Selby. There 
were diagrams illustrating the scene of the shooting, and 













THE WORLD’S TALK. 


425 


views of the hotel and street, and portraits of the parties. 

There were three minute and different statements from the 
doctors about the wounds, so technically worded that nobody 
could understand them. Harry and Laura had also been 

interviewed ” and there was a statement from Philip him¬ 
self, which a reporter had knocked him up out of bed at mid¬ 
night to give, though how he found him, Philip never could 
con j ecture. 

What some of the journals lacked in suitable length for the 
occasion, they made up in encyclopoedic information about 
other similar murders and shootings. 

The statement from Laura was not full, in hict it was frag¬ 
mentary, and consisted of nine parts of the reporter’s valuable 
observations to one of Laura’s, and it was, as the reporter 
significantly remarked, ‘‘incoherent.” But it appeared that 
Laura claimed to be Selby’s wife, or to have been his wife, 
that he had deserted her and betrayed her, and that she was 
going to follow him to Europe. When the reporter asked : 

“ What made you shoot him. Miss Hawkins ? ” Laura’s 
only reply was, very simply, 

“ Did I shoot him? Do they say I shot him?” And she 
would say no more. 

The news of the murder 'was made the excitement of the 
da}^ Talk of it filled the town. The facts reported were 
scrutinized, the standing of the parties was discussed, the 
dozen different theories of the motive, broached in the news¬ 
papers, were disputed over. 

During the night subtle electricity had carried the tale 
over all the wires of the continent and under the sea; and in 
all villages and towns of the Union, from the Atlantic to the 
territories, and a^vay up and down the Pacific slope, and as 
far as London and Paris and Berlin, that morning the name 
of Laura Hawkins was spoken by millions and millions of 
people, while the owner of it—the sweet child of years ago, 
the beautiful queen of Washington drawing rooms—sat shiv¬ 
ering on her cot-bed in the darkness of a damp cell in the 
Tombs 


CHAPTER XLYII. 


—Mana qo c’u x-opon-vi ri v’oyeualal, ri v’achihilal! ahcarroc cah, ahcarroc 
nleu! la quitzih varal in camel, in zachel varal cliuxmut cah, chuxmut uleu! 


Rabinal-Acht. 



iHILIP’S first effort was to get Harry out of the Tombs. 


J- He gained permission to see him, in the presence of an 
officer, during the day, and he found that hero very much 
cast down. 

“ I never intended to come to such a place as this, old fel¬ 
low,” he said to Philip ; “ it’s no place for a gentleman, they’ve 
no idea how to treat a gentleman. Look at that provender,” 
pointing to his uneaten prison ration. “ They tell me I am 
detained as a witness, and I passed the night among a lot of 
cut-throats and dirty rascals—a pretty witness I’d be in a 
month spent in such company.” 

“ But what under heavens,” asked Philip, “ induced you to 
come to Hew York with Laura! What was it for? ” 

What for ? Why, she wanted me to come. 1 didn’t 
know anything about that cursed Selby. She said it was 
lobby business for the University. I’d no idea what she 
was dragging me into that confounded hotel for. I suppose 
she knew that the Southerners all go there, and thought she’d 
find her man. Oh ! Lord, I wish I’d taken your advice. You 
might as well murder somebody and have the credit of it, as 


426 


A VISIT TO LAURA IN THE TOMBS. 


427 


get into the newspapers the waj I have. She’s pure devil, 
that girl. You ought to have seen how sweet she was on 
me; what an ass I am.” 

“ Well, I’m not going to dispute a poor prisoner. But the 
first thing is to get you out of this. I’ve brought the note 
Laura wrote you, for one thing, and I’ve seen your uncle, and 
explained the truth of the case to him. lie will be here 
soon.” 

Harry’s uncle came, with other friends, and in the course 
of the day made such a showing to the authorities that Harry 
was released, on giving bonds to appear as a witness when 
wanted. His spirits rose with their usual elasticity as soon 
as he was out of Centre Street, and he insisted on giving 
Philip and his friends a royal supper at Delmonico’s, an 
excess which was perhaps excusable in the rebound of his 
feelings, and which was committed with his usual reckless 
generosity. Harry ordered the supper, and it is perhaps 
needless to say that Philip paid the bill. 

Neither of the young men felt like attempting to see Laura 
that day, and she saw no company except the newspaper 
reporters, until the arrival of Col. Sellers and Washington 
Hawkins, who had hastened to New York with all speed. 

They found Laura in a cell in the upper tier of the women’s 
department. The cell was somewhat larger than those in the 
men’s department^ and might be eight feet by ten square, 
perhaps a little longer. It was of stone, floor and all, and 
the roof was oven shaped. A narrow slit in the roof admitted 
sufficient light, and was the only means of ventilation; when 
the window was opened there was nothing to prevent the 
rain coming in. The only means of heating being from the 
corridor, when the door was ajar, the cell was chilly and at 
this time damp. It was whitewashed and clean, but it had a 
slight jail odor ; its only furniture was a narrow iron bedstead, 
with a tick of straw and some blankets, not too clean. 

When Col. Sellers was conducted to this cell b}^ the matron 
and looked in, his emotions quite overcame him, the tears 


428 


THE COLONEL TALKS CHEERFULLY. 


rolled down his cheeks and his voice trembled so that he could 
hardly speak. Washington was unable to say anything ; he 
looked from Laura to the miserable creatures who were walk¬ 
ing in the corridor with unutterable disgust. Laura w^as 
alone calm and self-contained, though she was not unmoved 
by the sight of the grief of her friends. 

“ Are you comfortable, Laura ? ” was the first word the 
Colonel could get out. 

“ You see,” she replied. “ I can’t say it’s exactly comfort¬ 
able.” 

‘‘ Are you cold ? ” 

‘‘ It is pretty chilly. The stone floor is like ice. It chills 
me through to step on it. I have to sit on the bed.” 

“ Poor thing, poor thing. And can ^mu eat any thing?” 

“No, I am not hungiy. I don’t know that I could eat 
any thing, I can’t eat thatP 

“ Oh dear,” continued the Colonel, “ it’s dreadful. But 
cheer up, dear, cheer up;” and the Colonel broke down 
entirely. 

“ But,” he went on, “ we’ll stand by you. We’ll do every¬ 
thing for you. I know you couldn’t have meant to do it, it 
must have been insanity, you know, or something of that sort. 
You never did anything of the sort before.” 

Laura smiled very faintly and said, 

“ Yes, it was something of that sort. It’s all a whirl. He 
was a villain; you don’t know.” 

“ I’d ratlier have killed him myself, in a duel you know, 
all fair. I wish I had. But don’t you be down. We’ll get 
you off—the best counsel, the lawyers in New York can do 
anything; I’ve read of cases. But you must be comfortable 
now. We’ve brought some of your clothes, at the hotel. 
What else can we get for you ? ” 

Laura suggested that she would like some sheets for her 
bed, a piece of carpet to step on, and her meals sent in ; and 
some books and writing materials if it was allowed. The 
Colonel and Washington promised to procure all these things, 



VISITING LAUUA IN THE TOMBS 













































































































































































































































































































































































LAURA’S STORY BECOMING KNOWN. 


429 


and then took their sorrowful leave, a great deal more affected 
than the criminal was, apparently, by her situation. 

The Colonel told the matron as he went away that if she 
would look to Laura’s comfort a little it shouldn’t be the 



PROMISED PATRONAGE. 


worse for her; and to the turnkey who let them out he pat¬ 
ronizingly said, 

‘‘You’ve got a big establishment here, a credit to the city. 
I’ve got a friend in there—I shall see you again, sir.” 

By the next day sometliing more of Laura’s own story 
began to appear in the newspapers, colored and heightened 
by reporters’ rhetoric. Some of them cast a lurid light upon 
tlie Colonel’s career, and represented his victim as a beautiful 
avenger of lier murdered innocence ; and others pictured her 
as his willing paramour and pitiless slayer. Her communica¬ 
tions to the reporters were stopped by her lawyers as soon as 
they were retained and visited her, but this fact did not pre¬ 
vent—it may have facilitated—the appearance of casual para¬ 
graphs here and there which were likely to beget popular 
sympath}^ for the poor girl. 














430 


NEWSPAPER ELOQUENCE. 


The occasion did not pass without ‘‘ improvement ” by the 
leading journals; and Philip preserved the editorial comments 
of three or four of them which pleased him most. These he 
used to read aloud to his friends afterwards and ask them 
to guess from which journal each of them had been cut. One 
began in this simple manner :— 

History never repeats itself, but the Kaleidoscopic combinations of the pictured 
present often seem to be constructed out of the broken fragments of antique le¬ 
gends. Washington is not Corinth, and Lais, the beautiful daughter of Timandra, 
might not have been the prototype of the ravishing Laura, daughter of the ple¬ 
beian house of Hawkins; but the orators and statesmen who were the purchasers 
of the favors of the one, may have been as incorruptible as the Republican states¬ 
men who learned how to love and how to vote from the sweet lips of the Wash¬ 
ington lobbyist; and perhaps the modern Lais would never have departed from 
the national Capital if there had been there even one republican Xenocrates who 
resisted her blandishments. But here the parallel fails. Lais, wandering away 
with the youth Hippostratus, is slain by the women who are jealous of her charms. 
Laura, straying into her Thessaly with the youth Brierly, slays her other lover 
and becomes the champion of the wrongs of her sex. 

Another journal began its editorial with less lyrical beauty, 
but with equal force. It closed as follows:— 

With Laura Hawkins, fair, fascinating and fatal, and with the dissolute Colonel 
of a lost cause, who has reaped the harvest he sowed, we have nothing to do. 
But as the curtain rises on this awful tragedy, we catch a glimpse of the society 
at the capital under this Administration, which we cannot contemplate without 
alarm for the fate of the Republic. 

A third newspaper took up the subject in a different tone. 
It said:— 

Our repeated predictions are verified. The pernicious doctrines which we 
have announced as prevailing in American society have been again illustrated. 
The name of the city is becoming a reproach. We may have done something in 
averting its ruin in our resolute exposure of the Great Frauds; we shall not be 
deterred from insisting that the outraged laws for the protection of human life 
shall be vindicated now, so that a person can walk the streets or enter the pub¬ 
lic houses, at least in the day-time, without the risk of a bullet through his 
brain. 

A fourth journal began its remarks as follows :— 

The fullness with which we present our readers this morning the details of 
the Selby-Hawkins homicide is a miracle of modern journalism. Subsequent 
investigation can do little to fill out the picture. It is the old story. A beauti¬ 
ful woman shoots her absconding lover in cold-blood, and we shall doubtless 
learn in due time that if she was not as mad as a hare in this month of Martdi, 
she was at least laboring under what is termed “ momentary insanity.” 


HOW SENATOR DILWORTHY WAS AFFECTED. 431 

It would not be too much to say that upon the first publica¬ 
tion of the facts of the tragedy, there was an almost univer¬ 
sal feeling of rage against the murderess in the Tombs, and 
that reports of her beauty only heightened the indignation. 
It was as if she presumed upon that and upon her sex, to defy 
the law; and there was a fervent hope that the law would 
take its plain course. 

Yet Laura was not without friends, and some of them very 
influential too. She had in her keeping a great many secrets 
and a great many reputations, perhaps. Who shall set him¬ 
self up to judge human motives? Why, indeed, might we 
not feel pity for a woman whose brilliant career had been so 
suddenly extinguished in misfortune and crime ? Those who 
had known her so well in Washington might find it impossi¬ 
ble to believe that the fascinating woman could have had 
murder in her heart, and would readily give ear to the current 
sentimentality about the temporary aberration of mind under 
the stress of personal calamity. 

Senator Dilworthy was greatly shocked, of course, but he 
was full of charity for the erring. 

‘‘We shall all need mercy,” he said. “ Laura as an inmate 
of my family was a most exemplary female, amiable, affec¬ 
tionate and truthful, perhaps too fond of gaiety, and neglect¬ 
ful of the externals of religion, but a woman of principle. 
She may have had experiences of which I am ignorant, but 
she could not have gone to this extremity if she had been in 
her own right mind.” 

To the Senator’s credit be it said, he was willing to help 
Laura and her family in this dreadful trial. She, herself, was 
not without money, for the Washington lobbyist is not seldom 
more fortunate than the Washington claimant, and she was 
able to procure a good many luxuries to mitigate the severity 
of her prison life. It enabled her also to have her own family 
near her, and to see some of them daily. The tender solici¬ 
tude of her mother, her childlike grief, and her firm belief in 
the real guiltlessness of her daughter, touched even the custo¬ 
dians of the Tombs who are enured to scenes of pathos. 


432 


THE FAITHFUL MOTHER. 


Mrs. Hawkins had hastened to her daughter as soon as she 
received money for the journey. She had no reproaches, she 
had only tenderness and pity. She could not shut out the 



NO LOVE LIKE A MOTHER’S. 


dreadful facts of tlie case, hut it had been enough for her 
that Laura had said, in their first interview, “mother, I did 
not know what I was doing.” She obtained lodgings near 
the prison and devoted her life to her daughter, as if she had 
been really her own child. She would have remained in the 
prison day and niglit if it had been permitted. She was aged 
and feeble, but this great necessity seemed to give her new 
life. 

The pathetic story of the old lady’s ministrations, and her 
simplicity and faith, also got into tlie newspapers in time, and 
probably added to the pathos of this wrecked woman’s fate, 
which was beginning to be felt by the public. It was certain 
that she had champions who thought that her wrongs ought 
to be placed against her crime, and expressions of this feeling 
came to her in various ways. Visitors came to see her, and 



































INDICTED FOR MURDER. 


433 


gifts of fruit and flowers were sent, which brought some 
cheer into her hard and gloomy cell. 

Laura had declined to see either Philip or Harry, somewhat 
to the former’s relief, who had a notion that she would neces¬ 
sarily feel humiliated by seeing him after breaking faith with 
him, but to the discomfiture of Harry, who still felt her fas¬ 
cination, and thought her refusal heartless. He told Philip 
that of course he had got through with such a woman, but 
he wanted to see her. 

Philip, to keep him from some new foolishness, persuaded 
him to go with him to Philadelphia, and give his valuable 
services in the mining operations at Ilium. 

The law took its course with Laura. She was indicted for 
murder in the first degree, and held for trial at the summer 
term. The two most distinguished criminal lawyers in the 
city had been retained for her defence, and to that the reso¬ 
lute woman devoted her days, with a courage that rose as she 
consulted with her counsel and understood the methods of 
criminal procedure in New York. 

She was greatly depressed, however, by the news from 
Washington. Congress adjourned and her bill had failed to 
pass the Senate. It must wait for the next session. 

28 - 


CHAPTER XLVin. 


—In our working, nothing us availle; 

For lost is all our labour and travaille, 

And all the cost a twenty devil way 
Is lost also, which we upon it lay. 

Chaucer, 


He moonihoawa ka aie. 

Hawaiian Proverb, 

I T had been a bad winter, somehow, for the firm of Penny, 
backer, Bigler and Small. These celebrated contractors 
usually made more money during the session of the legisla¬ 
ture at Harrisburg than upon all their summer work, and this 
winter had been unfruitful. It was unaccountable to Bigler. 

“You see, Mr. Bolton,” he said, and Philip was present at 
the conversation, “ it puts us all out. It looks as if politics 
was played out. We’d counted on the year of Simon’s 
re-election. And, now, he’s re-elected, and I’ve yet to see 
the first man who’s the better for it.” 

“You don’t mean to say,” asked Philip, “that he went in 
without paying anything ? ” 

“ P ot a cent, not a dash cent, as I can hear,” repeated Mr. 
Bigler, indignantly. “ I call it a swindle on the state. How 
it was done gets me. I never saw such a tight time for 
money in Harrisburg.” 

“ Were there no combinations, no railroad jobs, no mining 
schemes put through in connection with the election ? ” 

434 


MR. BIGLER CLEANED OUT. 


435 


*‘Kot that 1 know,” said Bigler, shaking his head in dis¬ 
gust. “ la fact it was openly said, that there was no money 
in the election. It’s perfectly nnheard of.” 

‘‘Perhaps,’’ suggested Philip, “it was effected on what the 
insurance com anies call the ‘ endowment,’ or the ‘ paid up ’ 
plan, by which a policy is secured after a certain time with¬ 
out further payment.^' 

“ You think then,” said Mr. Bolton smiling, “ that a liberal 
and sagacious politician might own a legislature after a time, 
and not be bothered with keeping up his payments 1 ” 

“ Whatever it is,” interrupted Mr. Bigler, “ it’s devilish 
ingenious, and goes ahead of my calculations; it’s cleaned me 
out, when I thought we had a dead sure thing. I tell you 
what it is, gentlemen, I shall go in for reform. Things have 
got pretty mixed when a legislature will give away a United 
States senatorship.” 

It was melancholy, but Mr. Bigler was not a man to be 



CLEANED OUT BUT NOT CRUSHED. 

crushed by one misfortune, or to lose his confidence in 
human nature, on one exhibition of apparent honesty. He 
was already on his feet again, or would be if Mr. Bolton 
could tide him over shoal water for ninety days. 

“We’ve got something with money in it,” he explained .o 
Mr. Bolton, “got hold of it by good luck. We’ve goc the 
entire contract for Dobson’s Patent Pavement for the city of 
Mobile. See here.” 

Mr. Bigler made some figures; contract so much, cost of 


436 


MR. BOLTON AGAIN SAYS YES I 


work and materials so much, profits so much. At the end of 
three months the city would owe the company three hundred 
and seventy-five thousand dollars—two hundred thousand of 
that would be profits. The whole job was worth at least a 
million to the company—it might be more. There could be 
no mistake in these figures; here was the contract, Mr. Bolton 
knew what materials were worth and what the labor would 
cost. 

Mr. Bolton knew perfectly well from sore experience that 
there was always a mistake in figures when Bigler or Small 
made them, and he knew that he ought to send the fellow 
about his business. Instead of that, he let him talk. 

They only wanted to raise fifty thousand dollars to carry 
on the contract—that expended they would have city bonds. 
Mr. Bolton said he hadn’t the money. But Bigler could 
raise it on his name. Mr. Bolton said he had no right to put 
his family to that risk. But the entire contract could be 
assigned to him—the security was ample—it was a fortune to 
him if it was forfeited. Besides Mr. Bigler had been unfor¬ 
tunate, he didn’t know where to look for the necessaries of 
life for his family. If he could only have one more chance, 
he was sure he could right himself. He begged for it. 

And Mr. Bolton yielded. He could never refuse such 
appeals. If he had befriended a man once and been cheated 
by him, that man appeared to have a claim upon him forever. 
He shrank, however, from telling his wife what he had done 
on this occasion, for he knew that if any person was more 
odious than Small to his family it was Bigler. 

Philip tells me,” Mrs. Bolton said that evening, “ that the 
man Bigler has been with thee again to-day. I hope thee 
wil] have nothing more to do with him.” 

He has been very unfortunate,” replied Mr. Bolton, 
uneasily. 

“ He is always unfortunate, and he is always getting thee 
into trouble. But thee didn’t listen to him again ? ” 

“Well, mot' er, his family is in want, and I lent him my 


THE MOTHER OF PHILIP. 


437 


name—but I took ample security. The worst that can 
happen will be a little inconvenience.” 

Mrs. Bolton looked grave and anxious, but she did not com¬ 
plain or remonstrate; she knew what a “ little inconven¬ 
ience ” meant, but she knew there was no help for it. If Mr. 
Bolton had been on his way to market to buy a dinner for 
his family with the only dollar he had in the world in his 
pocket, he would have given it to a chance beggar who asked 
him for it. Mrs. Bolton only asked (and the question show¬ 
ed that she was no more provident than her husband where 
her heart was interested), 

“ But has thee provided money for Philip to use in open¬ 
ing the coal mine ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, I have set apart as much as it ought to cost to open 
the mine, as much as we can ahbrd to lose if no coal is found. 
Philip has the control of it, as equal partner in the venture, 
deducting the capital invested. He has great confidence in 
his success, and I hope for his sake he won’t be disappointed.” 

Philip could not but feel that he was treated very much 
like one of the Bolton family—by all except Ruth. His 
mother, when he went home after his recovery from his acci¬ 
dent, had affected to be very jealous of Mrs. Bolton, about 
whom and Ruth she asked a thousand questions—an affecta¬ 
tion of jealousy which no doubt concealed a real heartache, 
which comes to every mother when her son goes out into the 
world and forms new ties. And to Mrs. Sterling, a widow, 
living on a small income in a remote Massachusetts village, 
Philadelphia was a city of many splendors. All its inhabi¬ 
tants seemed highly favored, dwelling in ease and surrounded 
by superior advantages. Some of her neighbors had relations 
living in Philadelphia, and it seemed to them somehow a 
guarantee of respectability to have relations in Philadelphia. 
Mrs. Sterling was not sorry to have Philip make his way 
among such well-to-do people, and she was sure that no good 
fortune could be too good for his deserts. 

“ So, sir,” said Ruth, when Philip came from Hew York, 


438 


RUTH AND PHILIP DISCUSS LAURA. 


“ you. hav^e been assisting in a pretty tragedy. I saw your 
name in the papers. Is this woman a specimen of your west¬ 
ern friends ? ” 

“My only assistance,” replied Philip, a little annoyed, 
“ was in trying to keep Harry out of a bad scrape, and I fail¬ 
ed after all. He walked into her trap, and he has been pun¬ 
ished for it. I’m going to take him up to Ilium to see if he 
won’t work steadily at one thing, and quit his nonsense.” 

“ Is she as beautiful as the newspapers say she is ? ” 

“ I don’t know, she has a kind of beauty — she is not 
like—’ 

“Hot like Alice?” 

“Well, she is brilliant; she was called the handsomest 
woman in Washington—dashing, you know, and sarcastic and 
witty. Puth, do you believe a woman ever becomes a 
devil?” 

“ Men do, and I don’t know why women shouldn’t. But 
I never saw one.” 

“Well, Laura Hawkins comes very near it. But it is 
dreadful to think of her fate.” 

“ Why, do you suppose they will hang a woman ? Do you 
suppose they will be so barbarous as that ? ” 

“ I wasn’t thinking of that—it’s doubtful if a Hew York 
jury would find a woman guilty of any such crime. But to 
think of her life if she is acquitted.” 

“It is dreadful,” said Kuth, thoughtfully, “but the woist 
of it is that you men do not want women educated to do any¬ 
thing, to be able to earn an honest living by their own exer¬ 
tions. They are educated as if they were always to be petted 
and supported, and there was never to be any such thing as 
misfortune. I suppose, now, that you would all choose to 
have me stay idly at home, and give up my^ profession.” 

“ Oh, no,” said Philip, earnestly, “ I respect your resolu¬ 
tion. But, Ruth, do you think you would be happier or do 
more good in following your profession than in having a 
home of your own ? ” 


PHILIP RETURNS TO THE MINE. 


439 


‘‘What is to hinder having a home of my own ? ” 

“Nothing, perhaps, only yon never would he in it—^you 
wotild be away day and night, if you had any practice; and 
what sort of a home would that make for your husband ? ” 

“ What sort of a home is it for the wife whose husband 
is always.away riding about in his doctor’s gig ? ” 

“ Ah, you know that is not fair. The woman makes the 
home.’^ 

Philip and Puth often had this sort of discussion, to which 
Philip was always trying to give a personal turn. He was 
now about to go to Ilium for the season, and he did not like 
to go without some assurance fi-om Puth that she might per¬ 
haps love him some day, when he was worthy of it, and when 
he could offer her something better than a partnership in his 
poverty. 

“ I should work with a great deal better heart, Puth,” he 
said the morning he was taking leave, “ if I knew you cared 
for me a little.” 

Puth was looking down; the color came faintly to her 
cheeks, and she hesitated. She needn’t be looking down, he 
thought, for she was ever so much shorter than tall Philip. 

“It’s not much of a place. Ilium,” Philip went on, as if a 
little geographical remark would fit in here as well as any¬ 
thing else, “ and I shall have plenty of time to think over the 
responsibility I have taken, and—” his observation did not 
seem to be coming out any where. 

But Puth looked up, and there was a light in her eyes that 
quickened Phil’s pulse. She took his hand, and said with 
serious sweetness: 

“ Thee mustn’t lose heart, Philip.” And then she added, 
in another mood, “ Thee knows I graduate in the summer and 
shall have my diploma. And if any thing happens—mines 
explode sometimes—thee can send for me. Farewell.’^ 

The opening of the Ilium coal mine was begun with energy, 
but without many omens of success. Philip was running 
a tunnel into the breast of the mountain, in faith that the 


440 


MINING. 


coal stratum ran there as it ought to. How far he must go in 
he believed he knew, but no one could tell exactly. Some of 
the miners said that they should probably go through the 
mountain, and that the hole could be used for a railway tun¬ 
nel. The mining camp was a busy place at any rate. Quite 
a settlement of board and log shanties had gone up, with a 
blacksmith shop, a small machine shop, and a temporary store 
for supplying the wants of the workmen. Philip and Harry 
pitched a commodious tent, and lived in the full enjoyment 
of the free life. 

There is no difficulty in digging a hole in the ground, if 
you have money enough to pay for the digging, but those 
who try this sort of work are always surprised at the 
large amount of money necessary to make a small hole. The 
earth is never willing to yield one product, hidden in her 
bosom, without an equivalent for it. And when a person 
asks of her coal, she is quite apt to require gold in exchange. 

It was exciting work for all concerned in it. As the tun¬ 
nel advanced into the rock every day promised to be the 
golden day. This very blast might disclose the treasure. 

The work went on week after week, and at length during 
the night as well as the daytime. Gangs relieved each other, 
and the tunnel was every hour, inch by inch and foot by foot, 
crawling into the mountain. Philip was on the stretch of 
hope and excitement. Every pay day he saw his funds 
melting away, and still there was only the faintest show of 
what the miners call ‘‘ signs.” 

The life suited Harry, whose buoyant hopefulness was 
never disturbed. He made endless calculations, which 
nobody could understand, of the probable position of the 
vein. He stood about among the workmen wdth the busiest air. 
When he was dowm at Ilium he called himself the engineer 
of the works, and he used to spend hours smoking his pipe 
with the Dutch landlord on the hotel porch, and astonishing 
the idlers there with the stories of his railroad operations in 
Missouri. He talked with the landlord, too, about enlarging 


NO PROGRESS TO REPORT. 


441 


his hotel, and about buying some village lots, in the prospect 
of a rise, when the mine was opened. lie taught the Dutch¬ 
man how to mix a great many cooling drinks for the summer 
time, and had a bill at the hotel, the growing lengt h of which 



THE LANDLORD TAKING LESSONS, 

t 

Mr. Dusenheimer contemplated with pleasant anticipations. 
Mr. Brierly was a very useful and cheering person wherever 
he went. 

Midsummer arrived. Philip could report to Mr. Bolton 
only progress, and this was not a cheerful message for him to 
send to Philadelphia in reply to inquiries that he thought be¬ 
came more and more anxious. Philip himself was a prey to 
the constant fear that the money would give out before the 
coal was struck. 

At this time Harry was summoned to Hew York, to attend 
the trial of Laura Hawkins. It was possible that Philip 
would have to go also, her lawyer wrote, but they hoped for 
a postponement. There was important evidence that they 

























































442 


TRIAL OF LAURA. 


could not yet obtain, and he hoped the judge would not 
force them to a trial unprepared. There were many reasons 
for a delay, reasons which of course are never mentioned, 
but which it would seem that a New York judge sometimes 
must understand, when he grants a postponement upon a mo¬ 
tion that seems to the public altogether inadequate. 

Harry went, but he soon came back. The trial was put off. 
Every week we can gain, said the learned counsel, Braham, 
improves our chances. The popular rage never lasts long. 


















































CHAPTER XLIX. 

CojHue 3a6jHCTajo, ho ho Ha 40 jro: 6jecHyjo h CKpujocb. 

“ Mof^re ipa eiye na.” “ Aki ije qfere li obbA” 

^i'YTTE’YE struck it!” 

T T This was the electric announcement at the tent door 
that woke Philip out of a sound sleep at dead of night, and 
shook all the sleepiness out of him in a trice. 

“ What! Where is it ? When ? Coal ? Let me see it. 
What quality is it were some of the rapid questions that 
Philip poured out as he hurriedly dressed. ‘‘ Harry, wake 
up, my boy. The coal train is coming. Struck it, eh ? Let’s 
see ?” 

The foreman put down his lantern, and handed Philip a 
black lump. There was no mistake about it, it was the hard, 
shining anthracite, and its freshly fractured surface, glistened 
in the light like polished steel. Diamond never shone with 
such lustre in the eyes of Philip. 

Llarry was exuberant, but Philip’s natural caution found 
expression in his next remark. 

“ How, Roberts, you are sure about this 
“ What—sure that it’s coal 
“ O, no, sure that it’s the main vein.” 

“ Well, yes. We took it to be that.” 

443 


444 


THE MIDNIGHT CALL. 


Did yon from tlie first 

“ I can’t say we did at first. No, we didn’t. Most of the 
indications were there, but not all of them, not all of them. 
So we thought we’d prospect a bit.” 

« Well?” 

«It was tolerable thick, and looked as if it might be tlie 



“ we’ve struck it.” 


vein—looked as if it ought to be the vein. Then we went down 
on it a little. Looked better all the time.” 

“ When did you strike it ?” 

About ten o’clock.” 

“ Then you’ve been prospecting about four hours.” 

‘‘ Yes, been sinking on it something over four hours.” 

‘‘ I’m afraid you couldn’t go down very far in four hours 
—could you ?” 

O yes—it’s a good deal broke up, nothing but picking and 
gadding stuff.” 

it does look encouraging, sure enough—but then 
the lacking indications—” 




































BRILLIANT ANTICIPATIONS. 


445 


“ I’d rather we had them, Mr. Sterling, but I’ve seen more 
than one good permanent mine struck without ’em in mj 
time.” 

“ Well, that is encouraging too.” 

‘‘ Yes, there was the Union, the Alabama and the Black 
Mohawk—all good, sound mines, you know—all just exactly 
like this one when we first struck them.” 

“ Well, I begin to feel a good deal more easy. I guess we’ve 
really got it. I remember hearing them tell about the Black 
Mohawk.” 

“ I’m free to say that I believe it, and the men all think so 
too. They are all old hands at this business.” 

Come Harry, let’s go up and look at it, just for the com¬ 
fort of it,” said Philip. They came back in the course of an 
hour, satisfied and happy. 

There was no more sleep for them that night. They lit 
their pipes, put a specimen of the coal on the table, and made 
it a kind of loadstone of thought and conversation. 

“ Of course,” said Harry, “ there will have to be a branch 
track built, and a ‘ switch-back ’ up the hill.” 

‘‘Yes, there will be no trouble about getting the money for 
that now. We could sell out to-morrow for a handsome sum. 
That sort of coal doesn’t go begging within a mile of a rail-road. 
I wonder if Mr. Bolton would rather sell out or work it ?” 

“ Oh, work it,” says Harry, “ probably the whole mountain 
is coal now you’ve got to it.” 

“Possibly it might not be much of a vein after all,” sug¬ 
gested Philip. 

“ Possibly it is; I’ll bet it’s forty feet thick. I told you. I 
knew the sort of thing as soon as I put my eyes on it.” 

Philip’s next thought was to write to his friends and an¬ 
nounce their good fortune. To Mr. Bolton he wrote a short, 
business letter, as calm as he could make it. They had found 
coal of excellent quality, but they could not yet tell with ab¬ 
solute certainty what the vein was. The prospecting was still 
going on. Philip also wrote to Euth; but though this letter 
may have glowed, it was not with the heat of burning 


446 


GOOD NEWS! GOOD NEWS! 


anthracite. He needed no artificial heat to warm his pen 
and kindle his ardor when he sat down to write to Hnth. But 
it must be confessed that the words never flowed so easily 
before, and he ran on for an hour disporting in all the ex¬ 
travagance of his imagination. When Buth read it, she 
doubted if the fellow had not gone out of his senses. And it 
was not until she reached the postscript that she discovered 
the cause of the exhilaration. P. S.—We have found 
coal.” 

The news couldn’t have come to Mr. Bolton in better time. 
He had never been so sorely pressed. A dozen schemes which 
he had in hand, any one of which might turn up a fortune, 
all languished, and each needed just a little more money to 
save that which had been invested. He hadn’t a piece of 
real estate that was not covered with mortgages, even to the 
wild tract which Philip was experimenting on, and which had 
no marketable value above the incumbrance on it. 

He had come home that day early, unusually dejected. 

I am afraid,” he said to his wife, ‘‘ that we shall have to 
give up our house. I don’t care for myself, but for thee and 
the children.” 

“ That will be the least of misfortunes,” said Mrs. Bolton, 
cheerfully, “ if thee can clear thyself from debt and anxiety, 
which is wearing thee out, we can live any where. Thee 
knows we were never happier than when we were in a much 
humbler home.” 

“ The truth is, Margaret, that affair of Bigler and Small’s 
has come on me just when I couldn’t stand another ounce. 
They have made another failure of it. I might have known 
they would ; and the sharpers, or fools, I don’t know which, 
have contrived to involve me for three times as much as the 
first obligation. The security is in my hands, but it is good 
for nothing to me. I have not the money to do anything 
with the contract.” 

Ruth heard this dismal news without great surprise. She 
had long felt that they were living on a volcano, that might 
go in to active operation at any hour. Inheriting from her 


DR. RUTH BOLTON’S OPPORTUNITY. 


447 


father an active brain and the courage to undertake new 
things, she had little of his sanguine temperament 
blinds one to difficulties and possible failures. She had little 
confidence in the many schemes which had been about to lift 
her father out of all his embarassments and into great wealth, 
ever since she was a child; as she grew older, she 
rather wondered that they were as prosperous as they 
seemed to be, and that they did not all go to smash amid so 
many brilliant projects. She was nothing but a woman, and 
did not know how much of the business prosperity of the 
world is only a bubble of credit and speculation, one scheme 
helping to float another which is no better than it, and the 
whole liable to come to naught and confusion as soon as the 
busy brain that conceived them ceases its power to devise, or 
when some accident produces a sudden panic. 

“ Perhaps, I shall be the stay of the family, yet,” said Kuth, 
with an approach to gaiety. “ When we move into a little 
house in town, will thee let me put a little sign on the door— 
Dr. Kuth Bolton ? Mrs. Dr. Longstreet, thee knows, has a 
great income.” 

“ Who will pay for the sign, Ruth ?” asked Mr. Bolton. 

A servant entered with the afternoon mail from the office. 
Mr. Bolton took his letters listlessly, dreading to open them. 
He knew well what they contained, new difficulties, more 
urgent demands for money. 

“ Oh, here is one from Philip. Poor fellow. I shall feel 
his disappointment as much as my own bad luck. It is hard 
to bear when one is young.” 

He opened the letter and read. As he read his face light¬ 
ened, and he fetched such a sigh of relief, that Mrs. Bolton 
and Kuth both exclaimed. 

“ Read that,” he cried, Philip has found coal!” 

The world was changed in a moment. One little sentence 
had done it. There was no more trouble. Philip had found 
coal. That meant relief. That meant fortune. A great 
weight was taken off, and the spirits of the whole household 
rose magically. Good Money ! beautiful demon of Money, 



448 THE OPPOKTUNITY SEEMS TO VANISH AGAIN. 

wliat an enchanter thou art! Until felt that she was of less 
consequence in the household, now that Philip had found 
coal, and perhaps she was not sorry to feel so. 

Mr. Bolton was ten years younger the next morning. He 
went into the city, and showed his letter on change. It 


THE MINE AT ILIUM. 

was the sort of news his friends were quite willing to listen 
■^o. They took a new interest in liim. If it was confirmed, 
Bolton would come right up again. There would be no diffi¬ 
culty about his getting all the money he wanted. The 
money market did not seem to be half so tight as it was the day 
before. Mr. Bolton spent a very pleasant day in his office, 
and went home revolving some new plans, and the execution 
of some projects he had long been prevented from entering 
upon by the lack of money. 

The day had been spent by Philip in no less excitement. 
By daylight, with Philip’s letters to the mail, word had gone 
down to Ilium that coal had been found, and very early a 
crowd of eager spectators had come up to see for themselves. 













THE BOLTONS IN TROUBLE. 


449 


The prospecting ” continued day and night for upwards 
of a week, and during the first four or five days the indications 
grew more and more promising, and the telegrams and letters 
kept Mr. Bolton duly posted. But at last a change came, 
and the promises began to fail with alarming rapidity. In 
the end it was demonstrated without the possibility of a doubt 
that the great find ” was nothing but a worthless seam. 

Philip was cast down, all the more so because he had been 
so foolish as to send the news to Philadelphia before he 
knew what he was writing about. And now he must contradict 
it, ‘‘ It turns out to be only a mere seam,” he wrote, “ but 
we look upon it as an indication of better further in.” 

Alas ! Mr. Bolton’s affairs could not wait for “ indications.’' 
The future might have a great deal in store, but the present 
was black and hopeless. It was doubtful if any sacrifice 
could save him from ruin. Yet sacrifice he must make, and 
that instantly, in the hope of saving something from the 
wreck of his fortune. 

His lovely country home must go. That would bring the 
most ready money. The house that he had built with loving 
thought for each one of his family, as he planned its luxuri¬ 
ous apartments and adorned it; the grounds that he had laid 
out, with so much delight in following the tastes of his wife, 
with whom the country, the cultivation of rare trees and 
fiowers, the care of garden and lawn and conservatories were 
a passion almost; this home, which he had hoped his children 
would enjoy long after he had done with it, must go. 

The family bore the sacrifice better than he did. They 
declared in fact—women are such hypocrites—that they quite 
enjoyed the city (it was in August) after living so long in the 
country, that it was a thousand times more convenient in 
every respect; Mrs. Bolton said it was a relief from the 
worry of a large establishment, and Buth reminded her father 
that she should have had to come to town anyway before 
long. 

Mr. Bolton was relieved, exactly as a water-logged ship is 
29 - 


450 


MR. BOLTON’'- FAILURE. 


lightened by throwing overboard the most valuable portion 
of the cargo—hut the leak was not stopped. Indeed his credit 
was injured instead of helped by the prudent step he had 
taken. It was regarded as a sure evidence of his embarrass ¬ 
ment, and it was much more difficult for him to obtain help 
than if he had, instead of retrenching, launched into some 
new speculation. 

Philip was greatly troubled, and exaggerated his own share 
in the bringing about of the calamity. 

“ You must not look at it so!” Mr. Bolton wrote him. ‘‘You 
have neither helped nor hindered—but you know you may 
help by and by. It would have all happened just so, if w© 
had never begun to dig that hole. That is only a drop, 
Work away. I still have hope that something will occur to 
relieve me. At any rate we must not give up the mine, so 
long as we have any show.” 

Alas ! the relief did not come. 'New misfortunes came in^ 
stead. When the extent of the Bigler swindle was disclosed 
there was no more hope that Mr. Bolton could extricate him¬ 
self, and he had, as an honest man, no resource except to sur¬ 
render all his property for the benefit of his creditors. 

The Autumn came and found Philip working with dimin¬ 
ished force hut still with hope. He had again and again been 
encouraged by good “ indications,” but he had again and 
again been disappointed. He could not go on much longer, 
and almost everybody except himself had thought it was 
useless to go on as long as he had been doing. 

When the news came of Mr. Bolton’s failure, of course the 
work stopped. The men were discharged, the tools were 
housed, the hopeful noise of pickman and driver ceased, and 
the mining camp had that desolate and' mournful aspect 
which always hovers over a frustrated enterprise. 

Philip sat down amid the ruins, and almost wished he 
were buried in them. How distant Buth was now from him, 
now, when she might need him most. How changed was all 
the Philadelphia world, which had hitherto stood for the ex¬ 
emplification of happiness and prosperity. 


PHILIP DREAMS DREAMS. 


451 


He still had faith that there was coal in that mountain, 
fle made a picture of himself living there a hermit in a 



THE HERMIT. 


shanty by the tunnel, digging away with solitary pick and 
wheelbarrow, day after day and year after year, until he grew 
gray and aged, and was known in all that region as the old 
man of the mountain. Perhaps some day—he felt it must be 
so some day—he should strike coal. But what if he did ? 
Who would be alive to care for it then ? What would he care 
f)r it then ? I^o, a man wants riches in his youth, when the 
world is fresh to him. He wondered why Providence could 
not have reversed the usual process, and let the majority of 
men begin with wealth and gradually spend it, and die poor 
w hen they no longer needed it. 

Harry went back to the city. It was evident that his ser¬ 
vices were no longer needed. Indeed, he had letters from his 
uncle, which he did not read to Philip, desiring him to go to San 
Francisco to look after some government contracts in the 
harbor there. 

Philip had to look about him for something to do; he was 
like Adam; the world was all before him where to choose. He 
made, before he w^ent elsewhere, a somewhat painful visit to 
Philadelphia, painful but yet not without its sweetnesses. 
The family had never shown him so much affection before; 


452 


IDLE AGAIN. 


they all seemed to think liis disappointment of more import¬ 
ance than their own misfortune. And there was that in 
Ruth’s manner—in what she gave him and what she withheld 
—that would have made a hero of a very much less promis¬ 
ing character than Philip Sterling. 

Among the assets of the Bolton property, the Ilium tract 
was sold, and Philip bought it in at the vendue, for a song, 
for no one cared to even undertake the mortgage on it except 
himself. He went aw^ay the owner of it, and had ample 
time before he reached home in Hovemljer, to calculate how 
much poorer he was by possessing it. 











CHAPTER L. 


eymdir stri^a a sorgfullt sinn, 
og svipur motgangs um vanga rid!a, 
og bakivendir Jj4r veroldin, 
og vellyst brosir a.d pinum qvi^a; 

Jjeink allt er knottott, og hverfast Isetr, 
sa hl6 1 dag er a morgun graetr; 

Alt jafnar sig! 


Sigurd Peterson. 


I T is impossible for tlie historian, with even the best inten¬ 
tions, to control events or compel the persons of his 
narrative to act wisely or to be successful. It is easy to see 
how things might have been better managed; a very little 
change here and there would have made a very different 
history of this one now in hand. 

If Philip had adopted some regular profession, even some 
trade, he might now be a prosperous editor or a conscien¬ 
tious plumber, or an honest lawyer, and have borrowed 
money at the saving’s bank and built a cottage, and be now 
furnishing it for the occupancy of Puth and himself. Instead 
of this, with only a smattering of civil engineering, he is at 
his mother’s house, fretting nnd fuming over his ill-luck, and 
the hardness and dishonesty of men, and thinking of nothing 
but how to get the coal out of the Ilium hills. 

If Senator Dilworthy had not made that visit to Hawkeye, 
the Hawkins family and Col. Sellers would not now be dan¬ 
cing attendance upon Congress, and endeavoring to tempt 
that immaculate body into one of those appropriations, for 

453 


454 


A PAGE OF IFS. 


the benefit of its members, which the members find it so diffi¬ 
cult to explain to their constituents; and Laura would not be 
lying in the Tombs, awaiting her trial for murder, and doing 
her best, by the help of able counsel, to corrupt the pure 
fountain of criminal procedure in E’ew York. 

If Henry Brierly had been blown up on the first Mississippi 
steamboat he set foot on, as the chances were that he would 
be, he and Col. Sellers never would have gone into the Co¬ 
lumbus navigation scheme, and probably never into the East 
Tennessee Land scheme, and he would not now be detained in 
Hew York from very important business operations on the 
Pacific coast, for the sole purpose of giving evidence to con¬ 
vict of murder the only woman he ever loved half as much 
as he loves himself. 

If Mr. Bolton had said the little word “ no ” to Mr. Bigler, 
Alice Montague might now be spending the winter in Phila¬ 
delphia, and Philip also (waiting to resume his mining oper¬ 
ations in the spring) ; and Puth would not be an assistant in 
a Philadelphia hospital, taxing her strength with arduous 
routine duties, day by day, in order to lighten a little the 
burdens that weigh upon her unfortunate family. 

It is altogether a bad business. An honest historian who 
had progressed thus far, and traced everything to such a con¬ 
dition of disaster and suspension, might well be justified in 
ending his narrative and writing—‘‘ after this the deluge.” 
His only consolation would be in the reflection that he was 
not responsible for either characters or events. 

And the most annoying thought is that a little money, 
judiciously applied, would relieve the burdens and anxieties 
of most of these people ; but affairs seem to be so arranged 
that money is most difficult to get when people need it most. 

A little of what Mr. Bolton has weakly given to unworthy 
people would now establish his family in a sort of comfort, 
and relieve Puth of the excessive toil for which she inherited 
no adequate physical vigor. A little money would make a 
prince of Col. Sellers; and a little more would cahn the 


PHILIP MAKES STRONG DETERMINATIONS. 


455 


anxiety of Washington Hawkins about Laura, for however 
the trial ended, he could feel sure of extricating her in the 
end. And if Philip had a little money he could unlock the 
stone door in the mountain whence would issue a stream of 
shining riches. It needs a golden wand to strike that rock. 
If the Knobs University bill could only go through, what a 
change would be wrought in the condition of most of the per¬ 
sons in this history. Even Philip himself would feel the 
good effects of it; for Harry would have something and Col. 
Sellers would have something; and have not both these cau¬ 
tious people expressed a determination to take an interest in 
the Ilium mine when they catch their larks ? 

Philip could not resist the inclination to pay a visit to Fall- 
kill. He had not been at the Montague’s since the time he 
saw Puth there, and he wanted to consult the Squire about 
an occupation. He was determined now to waste no more 
time in waiting on Providence, but to go to work at some¬ 
thing, if it were nothing better than teaching in the Fallkill 



ONE CHANCE OPEN. 


Seminary, or digging clams on Hingharn beach. Perhaps he 
could read law in Squire Montague’s office while earning his 
bread as a teacher in the Seminary. 

It was not altogether Philip’s fault, let us own, that he was 
in this position. There are many young men like him in 







456 


WHY PHILIP WAS AS HE WAS. 


American society, of liis age, opportunities, education and 
abilities, who have really been educated for nothing and have 
let themselves drift, in the hope that they will find somehow, 
and by some sudden turn of good luck, the golden road to 
fortune. He was not idle or lazy, he had energy and a dis¬ 
position to carve his own way. But he was born into a time 
when all young men of his age caught the fever of specula¬ 
tion, and expected to get on in the world by the omission of 
some of the regular processes which have been appointed 
from of old. And examples were not wanting to encourage 
him. He saw people, all around him, poor yesterday, rich 



WHAT HE EXPECTED TO BE. 


to-day, who had come into sudden opulence by some means 
which they could not have classified among any of the regu¬ 
lar occupations of life. A war would give such a fellow a 
career and very likely fame. He might have been a “ rail¬ 
road man,’’ or a politician, or a land speculator, or one of 
those mysterious people who travel free on all rail roads and 
steamboats, and are continually crossing and re-crossing the 
Atlantic, driven day and night about nobody knows what, 
and make a great deal of money by so doing. Probably, at 
last, he sometimes thought with a whimsical smile, he should 
end by being an insurance agent, and asking people to insure 
their lives for his benefit. 


HE PROPOSES STUDYING LAW AT EALLKILL. 457 


Possibly Philip did not think how much the attractions of 
Fallkill were increased by the presence of Alice there. He 
had known her so long, she had somehow grown into his life 
by habit, that he would expect the pleasure of her society 
without thinking much about it. Latterly he never thought 
of her without thinking of Puth, and if he gave the subject 
any attention, it was probably in an undefined consciousness 
that he had her sympathy in his love, and that she was always 
willing to hear him talk about it. If he ever wondered that 
Alice herself was not in love and never spoke of the possi¬ 
bility of her own marriage, it was a transient thought—for 
love did not seem necessary, exactly, to one so calm and 
evenly balanced and with so many resources in her herself. 

Whatever her thoughts may have been they were unknown 
to Philip, as they are to these historians; if she was seeming 
to be what she was not, and carrying a burden heavier 
than any one else carried, because she had to bear it alone, 
she was only doing what thousands of women do, with a self- 
renunciation and heroism of which men, impatient and com¬ 
plaining, have no conception. Have not these big babies with 
beards filled all literature with their outcries, their griefs and 
their lamentations ? It is always the gentle sex which is hard 
and cruel and fickle and implacable. 

Ho you think you would be contented to live in Fallkill, 
and attend the county Court?” asked Alice, when Philip had 
opened the budget of his new programme. 

“Perhaps not always,” said Philip, “ I might go and prac¬ 
tice in Boston maybe, or go to Chicago.” 

“ Or you might get elected to Congress.” 

Philip looked at Alice to see if she was in earnest and not 
chaffing him. Her face was quite sober. Alice was one of 
those patriotic women in the rural districts, who think men 
are still selected for Congress on account of qualifications for 
the office. 

“ Ho,” said Philip, “ the chances are that a man cannot get 
into congress now without resorting to arts and means that 


458 


PHILIP AND ALICE DISCUSS CONGRESS. 


should render him unfit to go there; of course there are 
exceptions; but do you know that I could not go into politics 
if I were a lawyer, without losing standing somewhat in my 
profession, and without raising at least a suspicion of my 
intentions and unselfishness ? Why, it is telegraphed all 
over the country and commented on as something wonderful 
if a congressman votes honestly and unselfishly and refuses 
to take advantage of his position to steal from the govern¬ 
ment.” 

“ But,” insisted Alice, I should think it a noble ambition 
to go to congress, if it is so bad, and help reform it. I don’t 
believe it is as corrupt as the English parliament used to be, 
if there is any truth in the novels, and I suppose that is 
reformed.” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know where the reform is to begin. I’ve 
seen a perfectly capable, honest man, time and again, run 
against an illiterate trickster, and get beaten. I suppose if 
the people wanted decent members of congress they would 
elect them. Perhaps,” continued Philip with a smile, the 
women will have to vote.” 

“ W ell, I should be willing to, if it were a necessity, just as 
I would go to war and do what I could, if the country 
couldn’t be saved otherwise,” said Alice, with a spirit that 
surprised Philip, well as he thought he knew her. “ If I 
were a young gentleman in these times—” 

Philip laughed outright. It’s just what Puth used to say, 

‘ if she w^ere a man.’ I wonder if all the young ladies are 
contemplating a change of sex.” 

“Ho, only a changed sex,” retorted Alice; “we comtem- 
plate for the most part young men who don’t care for any¬ 
thing they ought to care for.” 

“Well,” said Philip, looking humble, “I care for some 
things, you and Puth for instance; perhaps I ought not to. 
Perhaps I ought to care for Congress and that sort of thing.” 

“ Don’t be a goose, Philip. I heard from Puth yester^ 
day.” 


MORE INTERESTING SUBJECTT INTRODUCED. 45^ 
“ Can I see her letter 

hTo, indeed. But I am afraid her hard work is telling on 
herj together with her anxiety about her father.” 

“ Do you think, Alice,” asked Philip with one of those 
selfish thoughts that are not seldom mixed with real love, 
that Buth prefers her profession to—to marriage ?” 

‘‘ Philip,” exclaimed Alice, rising to quit the room, and 
speaking hurriedly as if the words were forced from her, “ you 
are as blind as a bat; Buth would cut off her right hand for 
you this minute.” 

Philip never noticed that Alice’s face was fiushed and that 
her voice was unsteady ; he only thought of the delicious 
words he had heard. And the poor girl, loyal to Buth, loyal 
to Philip, went straight to her room, locked the door, threw 



ALAS ! POOR ALICE. 


herself on the bed and sobbed as if her heart would break. 
And then she prayed that her Father in Heaven 'would give 
her strength. And after a time she was calm again, and went 
















troO THE SQUIRE ATTACKED WITH A MINING EEVER. 

to lier bureau drawer and took from a hiding place a little 
piece of paper, yellow with age. Uj^on it was pinned a four¬ 
leaved clover, dry and yellow also. She looked long at this 
foolish memento. Under the clover leaf was written in a 
school-girl’s hand— Philijp^ June^ 186 —.” 

Squire Montague thought very w^ell of Philip’s proposal. 
It would have been better if he had begun the study of the law 
as soon as he left college, but it was not too late now, and 
besides he had gathered some knowledge of the ^vorld. 

But,” asked the Squire, do you mean to abandon your 
land in Pennsylvania f ’ This track of land seemed an im- 



HOW HE WAS DRAWN IN. 


mense possible fortune to this New England lawyer-farmer. 
“ Hasn’t it good timber, and doesn’t the railroad almost touch 
it?” 

I can’t do anything with it now. Perhaps I can some¬ 
time.” 

‘‘What is your reason for supposing that there is coal 
there ?” 


































HE ENTERS INTO THE SPECULATION. 


461 


The opinion of the best geologist I could consult, my 
own observation of the country, and the little veins of it we 
found. I feel certain it is there. I shall find it some day. I 
know it. If I can only keep the land till I make money 
enough to try again.” 

Philip took from his pocket a map of the anthracite coal 
region, and pointed out the position of the Ilium mountain 
which he had begun to tunnel. 

“ Doesn’t it look like it ?” 

‘‘ It certainly does,” said the Squire, very much interested. 
It is not unusual for a quiet country gentleman to be more 
taken with such a venture than a speculator who has had more 
experience in its uncertainty. It was astonishing how many 
Hew England clergymen, in the time of the petroleum excite¬ 
ment, took chances in oil. The Wall street brokers are said 
to do a good deal of small business for country clergymen, 
who are moved no doubt with the laudable desire of purifying 
the Hew York stock board. 

“ I don’t see that there is much risk,” said the Squire, at 
length. “ The timber is worth more than the mortgage ; and 
if that coal seam does run there, it’s a magnificent fortune. 
Would you like to try it again in the spring, Phil?” 

Like to try it! If he could have a little help, he would 
work himself, with pick and barrow, and live on a crust. 
Only give him one more chance. 

And this is how it came about that the cautious old Squire 
Montague was drawn into this young fellow’s speculation, and 
began to have his serene old age disturbed by anxieties and 
by the hope of a great stroke of luck. 

“ To be sure, I only care about it for the boy,” he said. 
The Squire was like everybody else; sooner or later he must 

take a chance.” 

It is probably on account of the lack of enterprise in 
women that they are not so fond of stock speculations and 
mine ventures as men. It is only when woman becomes 
demoralized that she takes to any sort of gambling. Heither 


462 


PHILIP VISITS RUTH. 


A^lice nor Kuth were much elated with the prospect of Philip’s 
renewal of his mining enterprise. 

But Philip was exultant. He wrote to Puth as if his for¬ 
tune were already made, and as if the clouds that lowered 
over the house of Bolton were already in the deep bosom of 
a coal mine buried. Towards spring he went to Philadelphia 
with his plans all matured for a new campaign. His enthu¬ 
siasm was irresistible. 

‘‘ Philip has come, Philip has come,” cried the children, as 
if some great good had again come into the household ; and the 
refrain even sang itself over in Puth’s heart as she went the 
weary hospital rounds. Mr. Bolton felt more courage than 
he had had in months, at the sight of his manly face and the 
sound of his cheery voice. 

Puth’s course was vindicated now, and it certainly did not 
become Philip, who had nothing to offer but a future chance 
against the visible result of her determination and industry, 
to open an argument with her. Puth was never more certain 
that she was right and that she was sufficient unto herself. 
She, may be, did not much heed the still small voice that 
«ang in her maiden heart as she went about her work, and 
which lightened it and made it easy, ‘‘ Philip has come.” 

“ I am glad for father’s sake,” she said to Philip, 
“ that thee has come. I can see that he depends greatly upon 
what thee can do. He thinks women won’t hold out long,” 
added Puth with the smile that Philip never exactly under¬ 
stood. 

‘‘ And aren’t you tired sometimes of the struggle ? ” 

‘‘Tired? Yes, everybody is tired I suppose. But it is a 
glorious profession. And would you want me to be depend¬ 
ent, Philip ? ” 

“Well, yes, a little,” said Philip, feeling his way towards 
what he wanted to say. 

“ On what, for instance, just now ? ” asked Puth, a little 
maliciously Philip thought. 

“ Why, on—” he couldn’t quite say it, for it occurred to 


LOVE FOR LOVE. 


463 


him that he was a poor stick for any body to lean on in the 
present state of his fortune, and that the woman before him 
was at least as independent as he was. 

“I don’t mean depend,” he began again. “But I love you, 
that’s all. Am I nothing to you?” And Philip looked a 
little defiant, and as if he had said something that ought to 
brush away all the sophistries of obligation on either side, 
between man and woman. 

Perhaps Ruth saw this. Perhaps she saw that her own 
theories of a certain equality of power, which ought to pre¬ 
cede a union of two hearts, might be pushed too far. Per¬ 
haps she had felt sometimes her own weakness and the need 
after all of so dear a sympathy and so tender an interest con¬ 
fessed, as that which Philip could give. Whatever moved 



EVERYTHING. 


her—the riddle is as old as creation—she simply looked up to 
Philip and said in a low voice. 

Everything.” 

And Philip clasping both her hands in his, and looking 






































































4G4 


PHILIP HAS COME, 


down into her eyes, which drank in all his tenderness with 
the thirst of a true woman’s nature— 

Oh ! Philip, come out here,” shouted young Eli, throw¬ 
ing the door wide open. 

And Puth escaped away to her room, her heart singing 
again, and now as if it would burst for joy, “ Philip has 
come.” 

That night Philip received a dispatch from Harry—“ The 
trial begins to-morrow.” 










CHAPTER LI. 

Mpethie on sagar lou nga thia gawantou kone yoboul goube. 

Wolof Proverb. 

“Mitsoda eb volna a’ te szolgdd, bogy illyen nagy dolgot tselekednek?” 

Kirdlyok II. K. 8. 13. 

D ecember, is—, found Washington Hawkins and 
Col. Sellers once more at the capitol of the nation, 
standing guard over the University bill. The former gentle 
man was despondent, the latter hopeful. Washington’s dis¬ 
tress of mind was chiefly on Laura’s account. The court 
would soon sit to try her case, he said, and consequently a 
great deal of ready money would be needed in the engineer- 
ing of it. The University bill was sure to pass, this time, 
and that would make money plenty, but might not the help 
come too late ? Congress had only just assembled, and delays 
were to be feared. 

“Well,” said the Colonel, “ I don’t know but you are more 
or less right, there. How let’s figure up a little on the pre¬ 
liminaries. I think Congress always tries to do as near right 
as it can, according to its lights. A man can’t ask any fairer 
than that. The first preliminary it always starts out on, is 
to clean itself, so to speak. It will arraign two or three dozen 
of its members, or maybe four or five dozen, for taking bribes 
to vote for this and that and the other bill last winter.” 

“ It goes up into the dozens, does it ? ” 

“Well, yes; in a free country like ours, where any man 
30 - 465 


466 


HOW CONGKESS CLEANS ITSELF. 


can run for Congress and anybody can vote for Mm, you 
can’t expect immortal purity all tlie time—it ain’t in nature. 
—Sixty or eighty or a hundred and fifty people are bound to 
get in who are not angels in disguise, as young Hicks the 
correspondent says ; but still it is a very good average; very 
good indeed. As long as it averages as well as that, I think 
we can feel very well satisfied. Even in these days, when 
people growl so much and the newspapers are so out of 
patience, there is still a very respectable minority of honest 
men in Congress.” 

“ Why a respectable minority of honest men can’t do any 
good. Colonel.” 

“ Oh, yes it can, too.” 

Why, how ? ” 

Oh, in many ways, many ways.” 

“ But what are the ways \ ” 

‘‘Well—I don’t know—it is a question that requires time ; 
a body can’t answer every question right off-hand. But it 
does do good. I am satisfied of that.” 

“ All right, then; grant that it does good ; go on with the 
preliminaries.” 

“ That is what I am coming to. First, as I said, they will 
try a lot of members for taking money for votes. That 
will take four weeks.” 

“ Yes, that’s like last year; and it is a sheer waste of the 
time for which the nation pays those men to worh —that is 
what that is. And it pinches when a body’s got a bill wait- 
ing.” 

“A waste of time, to purify the fountain of public law ? 
Well, I never heard anybody express an idea like that before. 
But if it were, it would still be the fault of the minority, 
for the majority don’t institute these proceedings. There is 
where that minority becomes an obstruction—but still one 
can’t say it is on the wrong side.—Well, after they have fin¬ 
ished the bribery cases, they will take up cases of members 
who havr bought their seats with money. That will take 
another four weeks.” 


A GOOD MORAL EFFECT PRODUCED. 46T 

Yerj good ; go on. You have accounted for two-thirda 
of the session.” 

‘‘Hext tliej will try each other for various smaller irregu¬ 
larities, like the sale of appointments to West Point cadet¬ 
ships, and that sort of thing—mere trifling pocket-money en¬ 
terprises that might better be passed over in silence, perhaps, 
but then one of our Congresses can never rest easy till it has 
thoroughly purified itself of all blemishes—and that is a thing 
to be applauded.” 

How long does it take to disinfect itself of these minor 
impurities ? ” 

“ Well, about two weeks, generally.” 

“ So Congress always lies helpless in quarantine ten weeks 
of a session. That’s encouraging. Colonel, poor Laura will 
never get any benefit from our bill. Her trial will be over 
before Congress has half purified itself.—And doesn’t it occur 
to you that by the time it has expelled all its impure luem¬ 
bers there may not be enough members left to do business 
legally ? ” 

“Why I did not say Congress would expel anybody.” 

“ Well wonH it expel anybody ? ” 

“Hot necessarily. Did it last year? It never does. That 
would not be regular.” 

Then why waste all the session in that tomfoolery of try¬ 
ing members? ” 

“ It is usual; it is customary ; the country requires it.” 

“ Then the country is a fool, I think.” 

“Oh,no. The country thinks somebody is going to be ex¬ 
pelled.” - 

“Well, when nobody ^*5 expelled, what does the country 
think then ? ” 

“ By that time, the thing has strung out so long that the 
country' is sick and tired of it and glad to have a change on 
any terms. But all that inquiry is not lost. It has a good 
moral effect.” 

“ Who does it have a good moral effect on ?” 

^^Well—I don’t know. On foreign countries, I think. 


468 


HOW A TRIAL IS CONDUCTED. 


We have always been under the gaze of foreign countries. 
There is no country in the world, sir, that pursues corruption 
as inveterately as we do. There is no country in the world 
whose representatives try each other as much as ours do, or 
stick to it as long on a stretch. I think there is something 
great in being a model for the whole civilized world, Wash- 
ington.” 

You don’t mean a model; you mean an example.” 

“Well, it’s all the same; it’s just the same thing. It shows 
that a man can’t be corrupt in this country without sweating 
for it, I can tell you that.” 

“Hang it. Colonel, you just said we never punish anybody 
for villainous practices.” 

“ But good God we try them, don’t we! Is it nothing to 
show a disposition to sift things and bring people to a strict 
account ? I tell you it has its effect.” 

“ Oh, bother the effect!—What is it they do do ? How do 
they proceed? You know perfectly well—and it is all bosh, 
too. Come, now, how do they proceed ?” 

“ Why they proceed right and regular—and it ain’t bosh^^ 
Washington, it ain’t bosh. They appoint a committee to 
investigate, and that committee hears evidence three weeks, 
and all the witnesses on one side swear that the accused took 
money or stock or something for his vote. Then the accused 
stands up and testifies that he may have done it, but he was 
receiving and handling a good deal of money at the time and 
he doesn’t remember this particular circumstance—at least with 
sufficient distinctness to enable him to grasp it tangibly. So 
of course the thing is not proven—and that is what they say 
in the verdict. They don’t acquit, they don’t condemn. 
They just say, ‘ Charge not proven.’ It leaves the accused 
in a kind of a shaky condition before the country, it purifies 
Congress, it satisfies everybody, and it doesn’t seriously hurt 
anybody. It has taken a long time to perfect our system, 
but it is the most admirable in the world, now.” 

“So one of those long stupid investigations a^ vays turns 
out in that lame silly way. Yes, you are correct. I thought 


CONGRESS CRUELLY VINDICTIVE. 469 

maybe you viewed the matter differently from other people. 
Bo you think a Congress of ours could convict the devil of 
anything if he were a member 

‘^My dear boy, don’t let these damaging delays prejudice 
you against Congress. Don’t use such strong language ; you 
talk like a newspaper. Congress has inflicted frightful pun¬ 
ishments on its members—now you know that. When they 
tried Mr. Fairoaks, and a cloud of witnesses proved him to be 
—well, you know what they proved him to be—and his own 
testimony and his own confessions gave him the same charac¬ 
ter, what did Congress do then ?—come !” 

“ Well, what did Congress do ?” 

‘‘You know what Congress did, Washington. Congress 
intimated plainly enough, that they considered him almost a 
stain upon their body; and without waiting ten days, hardly, 
to think the thing over, they rose up and hurled at him a res¬ 
olution declaring that they disapproved of his conduct! IS’ow 
you know that, Washington.” 

“ It was a terrific thing—there is no denying that. If he 
had been proven guilty of theft, arson, licentiousness, infanti¬ 
cide, and defiling graves, I believe they would have suspended 
him for two days.” 

“ You can depend on it, Washington. Congress is vindic¬ 
tive, Congress is savage, sir, when it gets waked up once. It 
will go to any length to vindicate its honor at such a time.” 

“ Ah well, we have talked the morning through, just as 
usual in these tiresome days of waiting, and we have reached 
the same old result; that is to say, we are no better off than 
when we began. The land bill is just as far away as ever, 
and the trial is closer at hand. Let’s give up everything and 
die.” 

“ Die and leave the Duchess to fight it out all alone ? Oh, 
no, that won’t do. Come, now, don’t talk so. It is all going 
to come out right. Isow you’ll see.’ 

“ It never will. Colonel, never in the world. Something 
tells me that. I get more tired and more despondent every 


470 


COL. SELLERS COMFORTS WASHINGTON. 


day. I don’t see any hope; life is only just a trouble. I am 
so miserable these days! ” 

The Colonel made Washington get up and walk the floor 
with him, arm in arm. The good old speculator wanted to 
comfort him, but he hardly knew how to go about it. He 
made many attempts, but they were lame; they lacked spirit; 
the words were encouraging, but they were only words—he 
could not get any heart into them. He could not always 
warm up, now, with the old Hawkeye fervor. By and by 
his lips trembled and his voice got unsteady. He said : 

“ Don’t give up the ship, n]y boy—don’t do it. The 
wind’s bound to fetch around and set in our favor. I Icnow it.” 



“come now let’s cheer up.” 


And the prospect was so cheerful that he wept. Then he 
blew a trumpet-blast that started the meshes of his handker¬ 
chief, and said in almost his breezy old-time way : 

“Lord bless us, this is all nonsense! Night doesn’t last 
always; day has got to break some time or other. Every 
silver lining has a cloud behind it, as the poet says; and that 

































THE COLONEL’S LUCK AGAIN. 


471 


remark has always cheered me, though I never could see any 
meaning to it. Everybody uses it, though, and everybody 
gets comfort out of it. I wish they would start something 
fresh. Come, now, let’s cheer up; there’s been as good fish 
in the sea as there are now. It shall never be said that Beriah 
Sellers—. Come in?” 

It was the telegraph boy. The Colonel reached for the 
message and devoured its contents. 

“I said it! Never give up the ship! The trial’s post¬ 
poned till February, and we’ll save the child yet. Bless my 
life, what lawyers they have in New York! Give them 
money to fight with, and the ghost of an excuse, and they 
would manage to postpone anything in this world, unless it 
might be the millennium or something like that. Now for 
work again, my boy. The trial will last to the middle of 
March, sure; Congress ends the fourth of March. Within 
three days of the end of the session they will be done putting 
through the preliminaries, and then they will be ready for 
national business. Our bill will go through in forty-eight 
hours, then, and we’ll telegraph a million dollars to the jury 
—to the lawyers, I mean—and the verdict of the jury will be 
‘Accidental murder resulting from justifiable insanity ’—or 
something to that effect, something to that effect. Every¬ 
thing is dead sure, now. Come, what is the matter ? What 
are you wilting down like that, for? You mustn’t be a 
girl, you know.” 

“ Oh, Colonel, I am become so used to troubles, so used to 
failures, disappointments, hard luck of all kinds, that a little 
good news breaks me right down. Everything has been so 
hopeless that now I can’t stand good news at all. It is too 
good to be true, anyway. Don’t you see how our bad luck 
has worked on me? My hair is getting gray, and many 
nights I don’t sleep at all. I wish it was all over and we 
could rest. I wish we could lie down and just forget every¬ 
thing, and let it all be just a dream that is done and can’t 
come back to trouble us any more. I am so tired.” 

“ Ah, poor child, don’t talk like that—cheer up—there’s 


472 


A DOUBTFUL COMPLIMENT. 


daylight ahead. Don’t give up. You’ll have Laura again, 
and Louise, and your mother, and oceans and oceans of 
money—and then you can go away, ever so far away some¬ 
where, if you want to, and forget all about this infernal 
place. And by George I’ll go with you ! I’ll go with you 
—now there’s my word on it. Cheer up. I’ll run out and 
tell the friends the news.” 

And he wrung Washington’s hand and was about to hurry 
away when his companion, in a burst of grateful admiration 
said: 

‘‘ I think you are the best soul and the noblest I ever knew. 
Colonel Sellers ! and if the people only knew you as I do, 
you would not be tagging around here a nameless man—you 
would be in Congress.” 

The gladness died out of the Colonel’s face, and he laid his 
hand upon Washington’s shoulder and said gravely: 

I have always been a friend of your family, Washington, 
and I think I have always tried to do right as between man 
and man, according to my lights. How I don’t think there 
has ever been anything in my conduct that should make you 
feel justified in saying a thing like that.” 

He turned, then, and walked slowly out, leaving Washing¬ 
ton abashed and somewhat bewildered. When Washington 
had presently got his thoughts into line again, he said to him¬ 
self, Why, honestly, I only meant to compliment him—in¬ 
deed I would not have hurt him for the world.” 


CHAPTER LIL 


Aucune chose monde et plus noble et plus belle 
Que la sainte ferveur d’un veritable zele. 

Le Tartuffe^ a. 1, sc. 6 . 

With faire discourse the evening so they pas; 

For that olde man of pleasing wordes had store, 

And well could file his tongue, as smooth as glas— 

Faerie Qiceene. 

-II prit un air bdnin et tendre, 

D’un Laudate Deum lour preta le bon jour. 

Puis convia le monde au fraternal amour! 

Roman du Renard {Prologue). 

T he weeks drifted by monotonously enough, now. The 
“preliminaries” continued to drag along in Congress, 
and life was a dull suspense to Sellers and Washington, a 
weary waiting which might have broken their hearts, maybe, 
but for the relieving change wliich they got out of an occa¬ 
sional visit to New York to see Laura. Standing guard in 
Washington or anywhere else is not an exciting business in 
time of peace, but standing guard was all that the two friends 
had to do ; all that was needed of them was that they should 
be on hand and ready for any emergency that might come up. 
There was no work to do ; that was all finished ; this was but 
the second session of the last winter’s Congress, and its action 
on the bill could have but one result—its passage. The 
House must do its work over again, of course, but the same 
membership was there to see that it did it.—The Senate was 
secure—Senator Dilworthy was able to put all doubts to rest 
on that head. Indeed it was no secret in Washington that a 
two-thirds vote in the Senate was ready and waiting to be 

473 



ington in the front rank of impressive dignitaries that gave 
tone to the occasion and pomp to the platform. Ilis bald 
headed surroundings made the youth the more conspicuous. 


474 WASHINGTON ADOPTS A HUMBLE DEPORTMENT. 

cast for the University bill as soon as it should come before 
that body. 

Washington did not take part in the gaieties of ^^the sea¬ 
son,” as he had done the previous winter. He had lost his 
interest in such things; he was oppressed with cares, now. 
Senator Dilworthy said to Washington that an humble deport¬ 
ment, under punishment, was best, and that there was but 
one way in which the troubled heart might find perfect 
repose and peace. The suggestion found a response in 
Washington’s breast, and the Senator saw the sign of it in 
his face. 

From that moment one could find the youth with the Sen¬ 
ator even oftener than with Col. Sellers. When the states¬ 
man presided at great temperance meetings, he placed Wash- 


A SHINING EXAMPLE. 


































A PEACEFUL LION. 


475 


When the statesman made remarks in these meetings, he not 
infrequently alluded with effect to the encouraging spectacle 
of one of the wealthiest and most brilliant young favorites of 
society forsaking the light vanities of that butterfly existence 
to nobly and self-sacrificingly devote his talents and his riches 
to the cause of saving his hapless fellow creatures from shame 
and misery here and eternal regret hereafter. At the 
prayer meetings the Senator always brought Washington up 
the aisle on his arm and seated him prominently; in his 
prayers he referred to him in the cant terms which the Sena¬ 
tor employed, perhaps unconsciously, and mistook, maybe, for 
religion, and in other ways brought him into notice. He had 
him out at gatherings for the benefit of the negro, gatherings 
for the benefit of the Indian, gatherings for the benefit of the 
heathen in distant lands. He had him out time and again, 
before Sunday Schools, as an example for emulation. Upon 
all these occasions the Senator made casual references to 
many benevolent enterprises which his ardent young friend 
was planning against the day when the passage of the Uni¬ 
versity bill should make his ample means available for the 
amelioration of the condition of the unfortunate among his 
fellow men of all nations and all climes. Thus as the weeks 
rolled on Washington grew up into an imposing lion once 
more, but a lion that roamed the peaceful fields of religion 
and temperance, and revisited the glittering domain of fashion 
no more. A great moral influence was thus brought to bear 
in favor of the bill; the w^eightiest of friends flocked to its 
standard ; its most energetic enemies said it was useless to 
fight longer ; they had tacitly surrendered while as yet the 
day of battle was not come. 


CHAPTER LIIT. 


—He seekes, of all his drifte the aymed end: 

Thereto his subtile engins he does bend, 

His practick witt and his fayre fyled tongue, 

With thousand other sleightes; for well he kend 
His credit now in doubtful ballaunce hong: 

For hardly could bee hurt, who was already stong. 

Faerie Qtieene. 


Selons divers besoins, il est une science 
D’dtendre les liens de notre conscience, 

Et de rectifier le mal de Taction 
Avec la puret^ de notre intention. 

Le Tartufe, a. 4, sc. 6. 

T he session was drawing toward its close. Senator Dil- 
worthy thought he would run out west and shake hands 
with his constituents and let them look at him. The legisla¬ 
ture whose duty it would be • to re-elect him to the United 
States Senate, was already in session. Mr. Dilworthy con¬ 
sidered his re-election certain, but he was a careful, pains¬ 
taking man, and if, by visiting his State he could find the 
opportunity to persuade a few more legislators to vote for 
him, he held the journey to be w^ell worth taking. The Uni¬ 
versity bill was safe, now ; he could leave it wuthout fear ; it 
needed his presence and his watching no longer. But there 
was a person in his State legislature who did need watching 
—a person who, Senator Dilworthy said, was a narrow, grum¬ 
bling, uncomfortable malcontent—a person who was stolidly 
opposed to reform, and progress and him ,—a person who, he 
feared, had been bought with money to combat him, and 

476 - 


PREPAKATIONS POR A RE-ELECTION. 477 

through him the commonwealth’s welfare and its political 
purity. 

“ If this person Noble,” said Mr. Dilworthy, in a little 
speech at a dinner party given him by some of his admirers, 
“ merely desired to sacrifice me^ I would willingly offer up 
my political life on the altar of my dear State’s weal, I would 
be glad and grateful to do it; but when he makes of me hut 
a cloak to hide his deeper designs, when he proposes to strike 
through me at the heart of my beloved State, all the lion in 
me is roused—and I say ,Here I stand, solitary and alone, hut 
unflinching, unquailing, thrice armed with my sacred trust; 
and whoso passes, to do evil to this fair domain that looks to 
me for protection, must do so over my dead body.” 

He further said that if this Noble were a pure man, and 
merely misguided, he could bear it, but that he should succeed 
in his wicked designs through a base use of money would 
leave a blot upon his State which would work untold evil to 
the morals of the people, and that he would not suffer ; the 
public morals must not be contaminated. He would seek this 
man Noble; he would argue, he would persuade, he would 
appeal to his honor. 

When he arrived on the ground he found his friends unter¬ 
rified ; they were standing firmly by him and were full of 
courage. Noble was wmrking hard, too, but matters were 
against him, he was not making much progress. Mr. Dil¬ 
worthy took an early opportunity to send for Mr. Noble ; 
he had a midnight interview with him, and urged him to for¬ 
sake his evil ways; he begged him to come again and again, 
which he did. He finally sent the man away at 3 o’clock 
one morning j and when he was gone, Mr. Dilworthy said to 
himself, 

I feel a good deal relieved, now, a great deal relieved.” 

The Senator now turned his attention to matters touching 
the souls of his people. He appeared in church ; he took a 
leading part in prayer meetings ; he met and encouraged the 
temperance societies; he graced the sewing circles of the 



Bibleless pagan of tlie South Seas, and this act enchanted 
the ladies, who regarded the garments thus honored as in a 
manner sanctified. The Senator wrought in Bible classes, 
and nothing could keep him away from the Sunday Schools 
—neither sickness nor storms nor weariness. He even 
traveled a tedious thirty miles in a poor little rickety stage¬ 
coach to comply with the desire of the miserable hamlet of 
Cattleville that he would let its Sunday School look upon 
him. 

All the town was assembled at the stage office when he ar¬ 
rived, two bonfires were burning, and a battery of anvils was 
popping exultant broadsides; for a United States Senator 
was a sort of god in the understanding of these people who 
never had seen any creature mightier than a county judge. 
To them a United States Senator was a vast, vague colossus, 
an awe inspiring unreality. 


4:78 THE MEANS EMPLOYED BY SENATOR DILWORTHY. 

ladies with his presence, and even took a needle now and then 
and made a stitch or two upon a calico shirt for some poor 


THE SEWING SOCIETY DODGE. 










THE SENATOR VISITS A SUNDAY SCHOOL. 


479 


Next clay everybody was at tlie village church a full half 
hour before time for Sunday School to open ; ranchmen and 
farmers liad come with their families from five miles around, 
all eager to get a glimpse of. the great man—the man who had 
been to Washington; the man who had seen the President of 
the United States, and had even talked with him; the man 
wdio had seen the actual Washington Monument—perhaps 
touched it with his hands. 

When the Senator arrived the Church was crowded, the 
windows were full, the aisles were packed, so was the vestibule, 
and so indeed was the yard in front of the building. As he 
worked his way through to the pulpit on the arm of tlie min¬ 
ister and followed by the envied officials of the village, every 
neck was stretched and every eye twisted around interven¬ 
ing obstructions to get a glimpse. Elderly people directed 
each other’s attention and said, “ There ! that’s him, with the 
grand, noble forehead ! ” Boys nudged each other and said, 
“ Hi, Johnny, here he is ! There, that’s him, with the peeled 
head ! ” 

The Senator took his seat in the pulpit, with the minister 
on one side of him and the Superintendent of the Sunday 
School on the other. The town dignitaries sat in an impres¬ 
sive row within the altar railings below. The Sunday School 
children occupied ten of the front benches, dressed in their 
best and most uncomfortable clothes, and with hair combed 
and faces too clean to feel natural. So awed were they by 
the presence of a living United States Senator, that during 
three minutes not a ‘‘spit-ball” was thrown. After that 
they began to come to themselves by degrees, and presently 
the spell was wholly gone and they were reciting verses and 
pulling hair. 

The usual Sunday School exercises were hurried through, 
and then the minister got up and bored the house with a 
speech built on the customary Sunday School plan; then the 
Superintendent put in his oar; then the town dignitaries had 
their say. They all made complimentary reference to “their 


480 


HE ADDRESSES THE SCHOLARS. 


friend the Senator,” and told what a great and illustrious 
man he was and what he had done for his country and for 
religion and temperance, and exhorted the little boys to be 
good and diligent and try to become like him some day. The 
speakers won the deathless hatred of the house by these de¬ 
lays, but at last there was an end and hope revived; inspira¬ 
tion was about to find utterance. 

Senator Dilworthy rose and beamed upon the assemblage 
for a full minute in silence. Then he smiled with an access 
of sweetness upon the children and began: 

“ My little friends—for I hope that all these briglit-faced 
little people are my friends and will let me be their friend— 
my little friends, I have traveled much, I have been in many 
cities and many States, everywhere in our great and noble 
country, and by the blessing of Providence I have been per¬ 
mitted to see many gatherings like this—but I am proud, I 
am truly proud to say that I never have looked upon so much 
intelligence, so much grace, such sweetness of disposition as 
I see in the charming young countenances I see before me at 
this moment. I have been asking myself as I sat here. 
Where ami? Am I in some far-off monarchy, looking upon 
little princes and princesses ? Ho. Am I in some populous 
centre of my own country, where the choicest children of the 
land have been selected and brought together as at a fair for 
a prize ? Ho. Am I in some strange foreign clime where 
the children are marvels that we know not of ? Ho. Then 
where am I? Yes—where am I ? I am in a simple, remote, 
unpretending settlement of my own dear State, and these are 
the children of the noble and virtuous men who have made me 
what I am! My soul is lost in wonder at the thought! And 
I humbly thank Him to whom we are but as worms of the 
dust, that Ho has been pleased to call me to serve such men! 
Earth has no higiier, no grander position for me. Let kings 
and emperors keep their tinsel crowns, I want them not; my 
heart is here! 

“ Again I thought. Is this a theatre ? Ho. Is it a concert 



SENATOR DILIAVORTHV ADDRESSIN(i THE SUNDAY SCHOOL 







































































































































































































































































































































































































STORY OF A POOR LITTLE BOY. 


481 


or a gilded opera ? No. Is it some other vain, brilliant, 
beautiful temple of soul-staining amusement and hilarity? 
No. Then what is it? What did my consciousness reply? 
I ask you, my little friends. What did my consciousness reply ? 
It replied. It is the temple of the Lord ! Ah, think of that, 
now. I could hardly keep the tears back, I was so grateful 
Oh, how beautiful it is to see these ranks of sunny little faces 
assembled here to learn the way of life ; to learn to be good; 
to learn to be useful; to learn to be pious; to learn to be 
great and glorious men and women ; to learn to be props and 
pillars of the State and shining lights in the councils and the 
households of the nation; to be bearers of the banner and 
soldiers of the cross in the rude campaigns of life, and ra - 
somed souls in the happy fields of Paradise hereafter. 

“ Children, honor your parents and be grateful to them for 
providing for you the precious privileges of a Sunday School. 

“ Now my dear little friends, sit up straight and pretty— 
there, that’s it—and give me your attention and let me tell 
you about a poor little Sunday School scholar I once knew.— 
ile lived in the far west, and his parents were poor. They 
could not give him a costly education, but they were good 
and wdse and they sent him to the Sunday School. He loved 
the Sunday School. I hope you love your Sunday School— 
all, I see by your faces that you do! That is right, 

“ Well, this poor little boy was always in his place when 
the bell rang, and he always knew his lesson j for his teachers 
wanted him to learn and he loved his teachers dearly. Al- 
w^ays love your teachers, my children, for they love you more 
than you can know, now. He would not let bad boys per¬ 
suade him to go to play on Sunday. There was one little 
bad boy who was alw^ay s trying to persuade him, but he never 
could. 

“ So this poor little boy grew up to be a man, and had to 
go out in the world, far from home and friends to earn his 
living. Temptations lay all about him, and sometimes he 
was about to yield, but he would think of some precious lesson 
31- 


482 THE LITTLE BOY GROWS UP INTO SENATOR DILWORTHY. 

he learned in his Sunday School a long time ago, and 
that would save him. By and by he was elected to the leg¬ 
islature. Then he did everything he could for Sunday 
Schools. He got laws passed for them; he got Sunday 
Schools established wherever he could. 

And by and by the people made him governor—and he 
said it was all owing to the Sunday School. 

“ After a while the people elected him a Representative 
to the Congress of the United States, and he grew very 
famous.—Now temptations assailed him on every hand. 
People tried to get him to drink wine, to dance, to go to the¬ 
atres ; they even tried to buy his vote; but no, the memory 
of his Sunday School saved him from all harm; he remem¬ 
bered the fate of the bad little boy who used to try to get 
him to play on Sunday, and wUo grew up and became a 
drunkard and was hanged. He remembered that, and was 
glad he never yielded and played on Sunday. 

‘‘Well, at last, what do you think happened? Why the 
people gave him a towering, illustrious position, a grand, im¬ 
posing position. And what do you think it was? What 
should you say it was, children ? It was Senator of the 
United States! That poor little boy that loved his Sunday 
School became that man. That man stands before you ! All 
that he is, he owes to the Sunday School. 

My precious children, love your parents, love your teach¬ 
ers, love your Sunday School, be pious, be obedient, be hon¬ 
est, be diligent, and then you will succeed in life and be 
honored of all men. Above all things, my children, be hon¬ 
est. Above all things be pure-minded as the snow. Let us 
join in prayer.’’ 

When Senator Dilworthy departed from Cattleville, he 
left three dozen boys behind him arranging a campaign of 
life whose objective point was the United States Senate. 

When he arrived at the State capital at midnight Mr. 
Noble came and held a three-hours’ conference with him, and 
then as he was about leaving said: 


EVERYTHING SATISFACTORY AND PLEASANT. 483 

“I’ve worked hard, and I’ve got them at last. Six of 
them haven’t got quite back-bonh enough to slew around and 
come right out for you on the first ballot to-morrow, but 
they’re going to vote against you on the first for the sake of 
appearances, and then come out for you all in a body on the 
second—I’ve fixed all that! By supper time to-morrow 
you’ll be re-elected. You can go to bed and sleep easy on 
that.” 

After Mr. Noble was gone, the Senator said: 

“ Well, to bring about a complexion of things like this waa 
worth coming West for.” 



L 



CHAPTER LIV. 


=sr zyjfk^ 

HiIh^^ 'S^TSISTyr rPTT iT^rJr^yrTTTiT^' 

Sdnkhya Kdrikd, xlvii. 

Ny byd ynat nep yr dysc; yr adysco dyn byth ny byd ynat ony byd doetbineb 
yny callon^ yr doetbet uytb uo dyn ny byd ynat ony byd dysc gyt ar doetbinab. 

Cyvreithiau Cymru. 

T he case of the State of New York against Laura Haw¬ 
kins was finally set down for trial on the 15th day of 
February, less than a year after the shooting of George 
Selby. 

If the public had almost forgotten the existence of Laura 
and her crime, they were reminded of all the details of the 
murder by the newspapers, which for some days had been 
announcing the approaching trial. But they had not forgotten. 
The sex, the age, the beauty of tlie prisoner; her high social 
position in Washington, the unparalled calmness with which 
the crime was committed had all conspired to fix the event 
in the public mind, although nearly three hundred and sixty' 
five subsequent murders had occurred to vary the monotony 
of metropolitan life. 

No, the public read from time to time of the lovely 
prisoner, languishing in the city prison, the tortured victim 
of the law’s delay ; and as the months went by it was natural 

484 




THE COURT ROOM. 


4S5 


that the horror of her crime should become a little indistinct 
in memory, while the heroine of it should be invested with a 
sort of sentimental interest. Perhaps her counsel had calculat¬ 
ed on this. Perhaps it was by their advice that Laura had in¬ 
terested herself in the unfortunate criminals who shared her 
prison confinement, and had done not a little to relieve, from 
her own purse, the necessities of some of the poor creatures. 
That she had done this, the public read in the journals of the 
day, and the simple announcement cast a softening light upon 
her character. 

The court room was crowded at an early hour, before the 
arrival of judges, lawyers and prisoner. There is no enjoy¬ 
ment so keen to certain minds as that of looking upon the 
slow torture of a human being on trial for life, except it be an 
execution; there is no display of human ingenuity, wit 
and power so fascinating as that made by trained lawyers in 
the trial of an important case, nowhere else is exhibited such 
subtlety, acumen, address, eloquence. 

All the conditions of intense excitement meet in a murder 
trial. The awful issue at stake gives significance to the 
lightest word or look. How the quick eyes of the spectators 
rove from the stolid jury to the keen lawyers, the impassive 
judge, the anxious prisoner. Nothing is lost of the sharp 
wrangle of the counsel on points of law, the measured de¬ 
cisions of the bench, the duels between the attorneys and the 
witnesses. The crowd sways with the rise and' fall of the 
shifting testimony, in sympathetic interest, and hangs upon 
the dicta of the judge in breathless silence. It speedily takes 
sides for or against the accused, and recognizes as quickly its fa- 
vorities among the lawyers. Nothing delights it more than 
the sharp retort of a witness and the discomfiture of an ob¬ 
noxious attorney. A joke, even if it be a lame one, is no 
where so keenly relished or quickly applauded as in a murder 
trial. 

Within the bar the young lawyers and the privileged 
hangers-on filled all the chairs except those reserved at the 
table for those engaged in the case. Without, the throng 


486 


THE GREAT MR. BRAHAM. 


occupied all the seats, the window ledges and the standing 
room. The atmosphere was already something horrible. It 
was the peculiar odor of a criminal court, as if it were tainted 
by the presence, in different persons, of all the crimes that 
men and women can commit. 

There was a little stir when the Prosecuting Attorney, with 
two assistants, made his way in, seated himself at the table, 
and spread his papers before him. There was more stir when 
the counsel of the defense appeared. They were Mr. Bra- 
ham, the senior, and Mr. Quiggle and Mr. O’Keefe, the 
juniors. 

Everybody in the court room knew Mr. Braham, the great 
criminal lawyer, and he was not unaware that he was the object 
of all eyes as he moved to his place, bowing to his friends in 
the bar. A large but rather spare man, with broad shoulders 
and a massive head, covered with chestnut curls which fell 
down upon his coat collar and which he had a habit of shak¬ 
ing as a lion is supposed to shake his mane. His face was 
clean shaven, and he had a wide mouth and rather small dark 
eyes, set quite too near together. Mr. Braham wore a brown 
frock coat buttoned across his breast, with a rose-bud in the 
the upper button-hole, and light pantaloons. A diamond 
stud was seen to flash from his bosom, and as he seated him¬ 
self and drew off his gloves a heavy seal ring was displayed 
upon his white left hand. Mr. Braham having seated him¬ 
self, deliberately surveyed the entire house, made a remark 
to one of his assistants, and then taking an ivory-handled 
knife from his pocket began to pare his finger nails, rocking 
his chair backwards and forwards slowly. 

A moment later Judge O’Shaunnessy entered at the rear 
door and took his seat in one of the chairs behind the bench; 
a gentleman in black broadcloth, with sandy hair, inclined to 
curl, a round, reddish and rather jovial face, sharp rather 
than intellectual, and with a self-sufficient air. His career had 
nothing remarkable in it. He was descended from a long 
line of Irish Kings, and he was the first one of them who 


A MODEL JUDGE. 


487 


had ever come into liis kingdom—the kingdom of such being 
the city of New York. He had, in fact, descended so far and 
so low that he found himself, when a boy, a sort of street 
Arab in that city ; but he had ambition and native shrewd¬ 
ness, and he speedily took to boot-polishing, and news¬ 
paper hawking, became the office and errand boy of 
a law firm, picked up knowledge enough to get 
some employment in police courts, was admitted to 
the bar, became a rising young politician, went to the 
legislature, and was finally elected to the bench which he now 
honored. In this democatic country he was obliged to con¬ 
ceal his royalty under a plebeian aspect. Judge O’Shaunnessj 



THE JUDGE. 


never had a lucrative practice nor a large salary, but he had 
prudently laid away money—believing that a dependant 
judge can never be impartial—and he had lands and houses 
to the value of three or four hundred thousand dollars. Had 
he not helped to build and furnish this very Court House ? 
Did he not know that the very spittoon ” which his judge- 
Iiip used cost the city the sum of one thousand dollars ? 

As soon as the judge was seated, the court was opened, 
with the “ oi yis, oi yis ” of the officer in his native language, 
the case called, and the sheriff was directed to bring in the 
prisoner. In the midst of a profound hush Laura entered, 
leaning on the arm of the officer, and was conducted to a seat 


488 


THE PKISONER AND FRIENDS. 


bj" her counsel. She was followed by her mother and by 
Washington Hawkins, who were given seats near her. 

Laura was very pale, but this pallor heightened the lustre 
of her large eyes and gave a touching sadness to her expres¬ 
sive face. She was dressed in simple black, with exquisite 



LAURA ON TRIAL. 


taste, and without an ornament. The thin lace vail which 
partially covered her face did not so much conceal as heighten 
her beauty. She would not have entered a drawing room 
with more self-poise, nor a church with more haughty humil¬ 
ity. There was in her manner or face neither shame nor 
boldness, and when she took her seat in full view of half the 
spectators, her eyes were downcast. A murmur of admira¬ 
tion ran through the room. The newspaper reporters made 



























































THE INDICTMENT. 


489 


their pencils fiy. Mr. Braham again swept his eyes over 
the house as if in approval. When Laura at length raised 
her eyes a little, she saw Philip and Harry within the bar, 
but she gave no token of recognition. 

The clerk then read the indictment, which was in the usual 
form. It charged Laura Hawkins, in effect, with the pre¬ 
meditated murder of George Selby, by shooting him "with a 
pistol, with a revolver, shot-gun, rifle, repeater, breech-|^der, 
cannon, six-shooter, with a gun, or some other weapon ; with 
killing him with a slung-shot, a bludgeon, carving knife, 
bowie knife, pen knife, rolling pin, car hook, dagger, hair 
pin, with a hammer, with a screw^-driver, with a nail, and with 
all other weapons and utensils whatsoever, at the Southern 
hotel and in all other hotels and places wheresoever, on the 
thirteenth day of March and all other days of the Christian 
era whensoever. 

Laura stood while the long indictment was read, and 
at the end, in response to the inquiry of the judge, she 
said in a clear, low voice, 

“Hot guilty.” She sat 
down and the court pro¬ 
ceeded to impannel a 

The first man called 
was Michael Lanigan, sa¬ 
loon keeper. 

“Have you formed or 
expressed any opinion on 
this case, and do you know 
any of the parties 

“Hot any,” said Mr. 

Lanigan. 

“ Have you any conscientious objections to capital 
punishment ? ” 

“ Ho, sir, not to my knowledge.” 

“ Have you read anything about this case ?” 

“ To be sure, I read the papers, y’r Honor.” 



MICHAEL LANIGAN. 


490 


CANDIDATES EOR JURYMEN. 


Objected to by Mr. Braham, for cause, and discharged. 
Patrick Coughlin. 

What is your business 

“ Well—I haven’t got any particular business.” 

“ Haven’t any particular 
business, eh ? Well, what’s 
your general business? 
What do you do for a 
living?” 

I own some terriers, 

sir.” 

‘‘ Own some terriers, eh ? 
Keep a rat pit ?” 

Gentlemen comes there 
to have a little sport. 1 
never fit ’em, sir.” 

“Oh, I see — you are 
PATRICK COUGHLIN. probably the amusement 

committee of the city coun¬ 
cil. Have you ever heard of this case ? ” 

“Hot till this morning, sir.” 

“ Can you read ?” 

“Hot fine print, y’r Honor.” 

The man was about to be sworn, when Mr. Braham asked, 
“ Could your father read ?” 

“ The old gentleman was mighty handy at that, sir.” 

Mr. Braham submitted that the man was disqualified 
Judge thought not. Point argued. Challenged peremptorily, 
and set aside. 

Ethan Dobb, cart-driver. 

“ Can you read ? ” 

“Yes, but haven’t a habit of it.” 

“ Have you heard of this case ? ” 

“ I think so—but it might be another. I have no opinion 
about it.” 

Dist. A. “Tha—tha—there! Hold on a bit? Did any¬ 
body tell you to say you had no opinion about it ? ” 



MORE OF THEM. 


491 


‘‘N-n-0, sir.” 

‘‘ Take care now, take care. Then what suggested it to 
you to volunteer that remark ?” 

“They’ve always asked that, when I was on juries.” 

“ All right, then. Have you any conscientious scruples 
about capital punishment ? ” 

“ Any which ? ” 

“Would you object to finding a person guilty of murdei 
on evidence ? ” 

“I might, sir, if I 
thought he wan’t guilty.” 

The district attorney 
thought he saw a point. 

“Would this feeling 
rather incline you against 
a capital conviction ? ” 

The juror said he hadn’t 
any feeling, and didn’t 
know any of the parties. 

Accepted and sworn. 

Dennis Laflin, laborer. 

Have neither formed nor expressed an opinion. Never had 
heard of the case. Believed in hangin’ for them that de¬ 
served it. Could read if it was necessary. 

Mr. Braham objected. The man was evidently bloody 
minded. Challenged peremptorily. 

Larry O’Toole, contractor. A showily dressed man of the 
style known as “ vulgar genteel,” had a sharp eye and a ready 
tongue. Had read the newspaper reports of the case, but 
they made no impression on him. Should be governed by 
the evidence. Knew no reason why he could not be an im¬ 
partial juror. 

Question by District Attorney. 

“How is it that the reports made no impression on 
you ? ” 

“Never believe anything I see in the newspapers.” 



ETHAN DOBB. , 



492 


A GOOD ONE KEFUSED. 


(Laughter from tlie crowd, approving smiles from his Honor 
and Mr. Braham.) Juror sworn in. Mr. Braham wLispered 
to O’Keefe, “ that’s the man.” 

Avery Hicks, pea-nut peddler. Did he ever hear of this 
case? The man shook his head. 

Can you read ? ” 

«Ho.” 

Any scruples about capital punishment ? ” 

« No.” 

He was about to he sworn, when the district attorney turn¬ 
ing to him carelessly, remarked, 

“ Understand the nature of an oath ? ” 

Outside,” said the man, pointing to the door. 

“ I say, do you know what an oath is ? ” 

“ Five cents,” explained the man. 

‘‘Do you mean to insult me?” roared the prosecuting’ 
officer. “Are you an idiot?” 

“ Fresh baked. I’m deefe. I don’t hear a w^ord you 



The man was discharged. “ He wouldn’t have made a bad 


juror, though,” whis¬ 
pered Braham. “ I saw 
him looking at the pris- 
o n e r sy mpathizingly. 
That’s a point you want 
to watch for.” 



The result of the 
whole day’s work was 
the selection of only 
two jurors. These how¬ 
ever were satisfactory 
to Mr. Braham. He 
had kept oft all those 
he did not know. No 


MR. HICKS. 


one knew better than this great criminal lawyer that the 
battle was fought on the selection of the jury. The subse¬ 
quent examination of witnesses, the eloquence expended on 


THE WORK OF FOUR DAYS. 


493 


the jury are all for effect outside. At least that is the theory 
of Mr. Braham. But human nature is a queer thing, he 
admits; sometimes jurors are unaccountably swayed, be as 
careful as you can in choosing them. 

It was four weary days before this jury Avas made up, but 
when it was finally complete, it did great credit to the counsel 
for the defence. So far as Mr. Braham knew, only two could 
read, one of whom was the foreman, Mr. Braham’s friend, 
the showy contractor. Low foreheads and heavy faces they 
all had ; some had a look of animal cunning, while the most 
were only stupid. The entire pannel formed that boasted 
heritage commonly described as the bulwark of our 
liberties.” 

The District Attorney, Mr. McFlinn, opened the case for 
the state. He spoke with only the slightest accent, one that 
had been inherited but not cultivated. He contented him¬ 
self with a brief statement of the case. The state would 
prove that Laura Hawkins, the prisoner at the bar, a fiend in 
the form of a beautiful woman, shot dead George Selby, a 
Southern gentleman, at the time and place described. That 
the murder was in cold blood, deliberate and without provo¬ 
cation ; that it had been long premeditated and threatened; 
that she had followed the deceased from Washington to com¬ 
mit it. All this would be proved by unimpeachable witnesses. 
The attorney added that the duty of the jury, however pain¬ 
ful it might be, would be plain and simple. They were 
citizens, husbands, perhaps fathers. They knew how insecure 
life had become in the metropolis. To-morrow their own 
wives might be widows, their own children orphans, like the 
bereaved family in yonder hotel, deprived of husband and 
father by the jealous hand of some murderous female. The 
attorney sat down, and the clerk called, 

Henry Brierly.” 


CHAPTER LV. 

** Dyden i Midten,” sagde Fanden, han sad imellem to Procntorer. 

Eur brefttaer br4z eo! Ha klevet hoc’h eftz-hu hd vreut? 

H enry BRIERLY took the stand. Requested by the 
District Attorney to tell the jury all he knew about the 
killing, he narrated the circumstances substantially as the 
reader already knows them. 

He accompanied Miss Hawkins to New York at her re¬ 
quest, supposing she was coming in relation to a bill then 
pending in Congress, to secure the attendance of absent mem¬ 
bers. Her note to him was here shown. She appeared to 
be very much excited at the Washington station. After she 
had asked the conductor several questions, he heard her say^ 
He can’t escape.” Witness asked her “ Who ? ” and she re¬ 
plied “ Nobody.” Did not see her during the night. They 
traveled in a sleeping car. In the morning she appeared not 
to have slept, said she had a headache. In crossing the ferry 
•he asked him about the shipping in sight; he pointed out 
where the Cunarders lay when in port. They took a cup of 
coffee that morning at a restaurant. She said she was anxious 
to reach the Southern Hotel where Mr. Simons, one of the 
absent members, was staying, before he went out. Sho was 

494 


HENRY BRIERLY’S TESTIMONY. 


495 


entirely self-possessed, and beyond unusual excitement did 
not act unnaturally. After she had fired twice at Col. Selby, 
she turned the pistol towards her owm breast, and witness 
snatched it from her. She had been a great deal with Selby 
in Washington, appeared to be infatuated with him. 

(Cross-examined by Mr. Braham.) “ Mist-er.er 

Brierly! ” (Mr. Braham had in perfection this lawyer’s trick 
of annoying a witness, by drawling out the Mister,” as if un¬ 
able to recall the name, until the witness is sufficiently aggra¬ 
vated, and then suddenly, with a rising infiection, fiinging his 
name at him with startling unexpectedness.) “ Mist-er.. o. er 
Brierly ! What is your occupation ? ” 

“ Civil Engineer, sir.” 

“ Ah, dvil engineer, (with a glance at the jury). Follow¬ 
ing that occupation with Miss Hawkins ? ” (Smiles by the 

jnry). 

Ho, sir,” said Harry, reddening. 

‘‘ How long have you known the prisoner ? ” 

Two years, sir. I made her acquaintance in Hawkeye, 
Missouri.” 

“ ’M ... m .. m. Mist-er.er Brierly ! Were you not 

a lover of Miss Hawkins ? ” 

Objected to. “ I submit, your Honor, that I have the 
right to establish the relation of this unwilling witness to the 
prisoner.” Admitted. 

Well, sir,” said Harry hesitatingly, “we were friends.” 

“You act like a friend ! ” (sarcastically.) The jury were 
beginning to hate this neatly dressed young sprig. “ Mist¬ 
er .er Brierly ! Didn’t Miss Hawkins refuse you ? ” 

Harry blushed and stammered and looked at the judge. 
“You must answer, sir,” said His Honor. 

“ She—she—didn’t accept me.” 

“ Ho. I should think not. Brierly ! do you dare tell the 
jury that you had not an interest in the removal of your rival. 
Col. Selby?” roared Mr. Braham in a voice of thunder. 

“Hothing like this, sir, nothing like this,” protested the 
witness. 





496 


COL. SELBY’S DEPOSITION. 


‘‘ That’s all, sir,” said Mr. Braham severely. 

“ One word,” said the District Attorney. “ Had you the 
least suspicion of the prisoner’s intention, up to the moment 
of the shooting ? ” 

“ Not the least,” answered Harry earnestly. 

“ Of course not, of course not,” nodded Mr. Braham to the 

The prosecution then put upon the stand the other wit¬ 
nesses of the shooting at the hotel, and the clerk and the 
attending physicians. The fact of the homicide was clearly 
established. Nothing new was elicited, except from the 
clerk, in reply to a question by Mr. Braham, the fact that when 
the prisoner enquired for Col. Selby she appeared exciter, and 
there was a wild look in her eyes. 

The dying deposition of Col. Selby was then produced. It 
set forth Laura’s threats, but there was a significant addition 
to it, which the newspaper report did not have. It seemed 
that after the deposition was taken as reported, the Colonel 
was told for the first time by his physicians that his wounds 
w^ere mortal. He appeared to be in great mental agony and 
fear, and said he had not finished his deposition. He added, 
with great difficulty and long pauses these words. ‘‘I— 
have—not—told—all. I must tell—put—it—down—I— 
wronged—her. Y ears—ago—I—can’t—see—O—God—I— 
deserved—” That was all. He fainted and did not revive 
again. 

The Washington railway conductor testified that the pris¬ 
oner had asked him if a gentleman and his family went out 
on the evening train, describing the persons he had since 
learned were Col. Selby and family. 

Susan Ciillum, colored servant at Senator Dilworthy’s, was 
sworn. Knew Col. Selby. Had seen him come to the house 
often, and be alone in the parlor with Miss Hawkins. He 
came the day but one before he was shot. She let him in. 
He appeared flustered like. She heard talking in the parlor, 
‘peared like it was quarrelin.’ Was afeared sumfin’ was 


WASHINGTON HAWKINS EXAMINED. 


497 


wrong. Just put her ear to the keyhole of the back parlor 
doer. Heard a man’s voice, I can’t, I can’t. Good God,” 
quite beggin’ like. Heard young Miss’ voice, “ Take your 
choice, then. If you ’bandon me, you knows what to ’spect.” 
Then he rushes outen the house. I goes in and I says, 
‘‘ Missis did you ring ? ” She was a standin’, like a tiger, 
her eyes flashin’. I come right out. 

This was the substance of Susan’s testimony, which was 
not shaken in the least by a severe cross-examination. In 
reply to Mr. Braham’s question, if the prisoner did not 
look insane, Susan said, “ Lord, no, sir, just mad as a haw- 
net.” 

Washington Hawkins was sworn. The pistol, identified 
by the officer as the one used in the homicide, was produced. 
Washington admitted that it was his. She had asked him for it 
one morning, saying she thought she had heard burglars the 
night before. Admitted that he never had heard burglars in 
the house. Had anything unusual happened just before that ? 
Nothing that he remembered. Hid he accompany her to a re¬ 
ception at Mrs. Shoonmaker’s a day or two before? Yes. 
What occurred ? Little by little it was dragged out of the 
witness that Laura had behaved strangely there, appeared to 
be sick, and he had taken her home. Upon being pushed 
he admitted that she had afterwards confessed that she saw 
Selby there. And Washington volunteered the statement 
that Selby was a black-hearted villain. 

The District Attorney said, with some annoyance, “ There 
—there ! That will do.” 

The defence declined to examine Mr. Hawkins at present. 
The case for the prosecution was closed. Of the murder 
there could not be the least doubt, or that the prisoner fol¬ 
lowed the deceased to New York with a murderous intent. 
On the evidence the jury must convict, and might do so with¬ 
out leaving their seats. This was the condition of the case 
two days after the jury had been selected. A week had 
passed since the trial opened, and a Sunday had intervened. 
32 - 


498 


MR. BRAHAM OPENS POR THE DEFENCE. 


The public who read the reports of the evidence saw no 
chance for the prisoner’s escape. The crowd of spectators 
who had watched the trial were moved with the most pro¬ 
found sympathy for Laura. 

Mr. Braham opened the case for the defence. Ilis manner 
was subdued, and he spoke in so low a voice that it was only 
by reason of perfect silence in the court room that he could 
be heard. He spoke very distinctly, however, and if his 
nationality could be discovered in his S23eech it was only in a 
certain richness and breadth of tone. 

He began by saying that he trembled at the responsibility 
he had undertaken ; and he should altogether despair, if he 
did not see before him a jury of twelve men of rare intelli¬ 
gence, whose acute minds would unravel all the sophistries of 
the prosecution, men with a sense of honor, which would re¬ 
volt at the remorseless persecution of this hunted woman by 
the state, men with hearts to feel for the wrongs of which 
she was the victim. Far be it from him to cast any suspicion 
upon the motives of the able, eloquent and ingenious lawyers 
of the state ; they act officially ; their business is to convict. 
It is our business, gentlemen, to see that justice is done. 

It is my duty, gentlemen, to unfold to you one of the most 
affecting dramas in all the history of misfortune. I shall 
have to show you a life, the sport of fate and circumstances, 
hurried along through shifting storm and sun, bright with 
trusting innocence and anon black with heartless villainy, a 
career which moves on in love and desertion and anguish, 
always hovered over by the dark spectre of Insanity,— an 
insanity hereditary and induced by mental torture,—until it 
ends, if end it must in your verdict, by one of those fearful 
accidents which are inscrutable to men and of which God 
alone knows the secret. 

“ Gentlemen, I shall ask you to go with me away from this 
court room and its minions of the law, away from the scene of 
this tragedy, to a distant, I wish I could say a happier day. The 
•tory I have to tell is of a lovely little girl, with sunny hair and 


LAUKA’S HISTORY RE-TOLD. 


499 


laughing eyes, traveling with her parents, evidently people of 
wealth and refinement, upon a Mississippi steamboat. There 
is an explosion, one of those terrible catastrophes which leave 
the imprint of an unsettled mind upon the survivors. Hun¬ 
dreds of mangled remains are sent into eternity. When the 
wreck is cleared away this sweet little girl is found among 
the panic stricken survivors, in the midst of a scene of horror 
enough to turn the steadiest brain. Her parents have dis¬ 
appeared. Search even for their bodies is in vain. The 
bewildered, stricken child—who can say what changes 
the fearful event wrought in her tender brain ?—clings 
to the first person who shows her sympathy. It is Mrs. 
Hawkins, this good lady who is still her loving friend. Laura 
is adopted into the Hawkins family. Perhaps she forgets 
in time that she is not their child. She is an orphan. Ho, 
gentlemen, I will not deceive you, she is not an orphan. 
Worse than that. There comes another day of agony. She 
knows that her father lives. But who is he, where is he ? 
Alas, I cannot tell you. Through the scenes of this painful 
history he flits here and there, a lunatic! If he seeks his 
daughter, it is the purposeless search of a lunatic, as one who 
wanders bereft of reason, crying, where is my child ? Laura 
seeks her father. In vain ! Just as she is about to find him, 
again and again he disappears, he is gone, he vanishes. 

But this is only the prologue to the tragedy. Bear with 
with me while I relate it. (Mr. Braham takes out his hand¬ 
kerchief, unfolds it slowly, crushes it in his nervous hand, 
and throws it on the table). Laura grew up in her humble 
southern home, a beautiful creature, the joy of the house, the 
pride of the neighborhood, the loveliest flower in all the 
sunny south. She might yet have been happy; sh-e was 
happy. But the destroyer came into this paradise. He 
plucked the sweetest bud that grew there, and having enjoyed 
its odor, trampled it in the mire beneath his feet. George 
Selby, the deceased, a handsome, aecomplished Confederate 
Colonel, was this human fiend. He deceived her with a 


500 


HER LIFE IN WASHINGTON REVIEWED. 


mock marriage ; after some months lie brutally abandoned 
her, and spurned her as if she were a contemptible thing; 
all the time he had a wife in New Orleans. Laura was 
crushed. For weeks, as I shall show you by the testimony 
of her adopted mother and brother, she hovered over death 
in delirium. Gentlemen, did she ever emerge from this 
delirium ? I shall show you that when she recovered her 
health, her mind was changed, she was not what she had 
been. You can judge yourselves whether the tottering 
reason ever recovered its throne. 

“ Years pass. She is in Washington, apparently the happy 
favorite of a brilliant society. Her family have become 
enormously rich by one of those sudden turns in fortune that 
the inhabitants of America are familiar with—the discovery 
of immense mineral wealth in some wild lands owned by 
them. She is engaged in a vast philanthropic scheme for the 
benefit of the poor, by the use of this wealth. But, alas, 
even here and now, the same relentless fate pursued her. 
The villain Selby appears again upon the scene, as if on pur¬ 
pose to complete the ruin of her life. He appeared to taunt 
her with her dishonor, he threatened exposure if she did not 
become again the mistress of his passion. Gentlemen, do you 
wonder if this woman, thus pursued, lost her reason, was be¬ 
side herself with fear, and that her wrongs preyed upon her 
mind until she was no longer responsible for her acts ? I 
turn away my head as one who would not willingly look even 
upon the just vengeance of Heaven. (Mr. Braham paused 
as if overcome by his emotions. Mrs. Hawkins and Washing¬ 
ton were in tears, as were many of the spectators also. The 
jury looked scared.) 

“ Gentlemen, in this condition of affairs it needed but a spark 
—I do not say a suggestion, I do not say a hint—from this 
butterfiy Brierly, this rejected rival, to cause the explosion. 
I make no charges, but if this woman was in her right mind 
when she fied from Washington and reached this city in com¬ 
pany with Brierly, then I do not know what insanity is.” 


MRS. HAWKINS ON THE STAND. 


501 


When Mr. Braham sat down, he felt that he had the jury 
with him. A burst of applause followed, which the officer 
promptly suppressed. Laura, with tears in her eyes, turned a 
grateful look upon her counsel. All the women among the 
spectators saw the tears and wept also. They thought as 
they also looked at Mr. Braham, how handsome he is! 

Mrs. Hawkins took the stand. She was somewhat confused 
to be the target of so many eyes, hut her honest and good face 
at once told in Laura’s favor. 

“Mrs. Hawkins,” said Mr. Braham, “will you be kind 
enough to state the circumstances of your finding Laura ? ” 

“ I object,” said Mr. McFlinn, rising to his feet. “ This 
has nothing whatever to do with the case, your honor. X am 
surprised at it, even after the extraordinary speech of my 
learned friend.” 

“ How do you propose to connect it, Mr„ Braham ?” asked 
the judge. 

“ If it please the court,” said Mr. Braham, rising impress 
sively, “your Honor has permitted the prosecution^ and I have 
submitted without a word, to go into the most extraordinary 
testimony to establish a motive. Are we to be shut out from 
showing that the motive attributed to us could not by reason 
of certain mental conditions exist ? 1 purpose, may it please 

your Honor, to show the cause and the origin of an aberration 
of mind, to follow it up with other like evidence, connecting it 
with the very moment of the homicide, showing a condition 
of the intellect of the prisoner that precludes responsibility.” 

“ The State must insist upon its objections,” said the Dis- 
trict Attorney. “ The purpose evidently is to open the door 
to a mass of irrelevant testimony, the object of which is to 
produce an effect upon the jury your Honor well under¬ 
stands.” 

“ Perhaps,” suggested the judge, “ the court ought to hear 
the testimony, and exclude it afterwards, if it is irrelevant,” 

“ Will your honor hear argument on that 2 ” 

“ Certainly.” 


602 


ARGUMENT ON A RULING OF THE COURT. 


And argument liis honor did hear, or pretend to, for two 
whole days, from all the counsel in turn, in the course of 
which the lawyers read contradictory decisions enough to 
perfectly establish both sides, from volume after volume, 
whole libraries in fact, until no mortal man could say what 
the rules were. The question of insanity in all its legal as¬ 
pects was of course drawn into the discussion, and its applica¬ 
tion affirmed and denied. The case was felt to turn upon 
the admission or rejection of this evidence. It was a sort of 
test trial of strength between the lawyers. At the end the 
judge decided to admit the testimony, as the judge usually 
does in such cases,after a sufficient waste of time in what 
are called arguments. 

Mrs. Hawkins was allowed to go on. 


CHAPTER LVI. 


—Voyre mais (demandoit Trinquamelle) mon amy, comment procedez Tons 
en action criminelle, la partie coupable prinse fiagrante crimine ? — Comme tous 
aultres Messieurs (respondit Bridoye)— 

“Hag eunn dr4-benn4g hoc’h euz-hu da lavaroud ^vid hd wennidigez?’^ 

M rs. HAWKINS slowly and conscientiously, as if every 
detail of her family history was important, told the 
story of the steamboat explosion, of the finding and adoption 
of Laura. Silas, that is Mr. Hawkins, and she always loved 
Laura as if she had been their own child. 

She then narrated the circumstances of Laura’s supposed 
marriage, her abandonment and long illness, in a manner 
that touched a-ll hearts. Laura had been a different woman 
since then. 

Cross-examined. At the time of first finding Laura on the 
steamboat, did she notice that Laura’s mind was at all 
deranged ? She couldn’t say that she did. After the recov¬ 
ery of Laura from her long illness, did Mrs. Hawkins think 
there were any signs of insanity about her? Witness con¬ 
fessed that she did not think of it then, 

Re-Direct examination. “ But she was diflferent after that ?” 
“ O, yes, sir.” 

Washington Hawkins corroborated his mother’s testimony 
as to Laura’s connection with Col. Selby. He was at Harding 

503 


504 


COLONEL SELLERS AS A WITNESS. 


during the time of her living there with him. After 
Col. Selby’s desertion she was almost dead, never appeared 
to know anything rightly for weeks. He added that he 
never saw such a scoundrel as Selby. (Checked by District 
attorney.) Had he noticed any change in Laura after her 
illness ? Oh, yes. Whenever any allusion was made that 
might recall Selby to mind, she looked awful—as if she could 
kill him. 

“ You mean,” said Mr. Braham, that there was an unnatu¬ 
ral, insane gleam in her eyes ? ” 

“ Yes, certainly,” said Washington in confusion. 

All this was objected to by the district attorney, but it was 
got before the jury, and Mr. Braham did not care how much 
it was ruled out after that. 

Beriah Sellers was the next witness called. The Colonel 
made his way to the stand with majestic, yet bland delibera¬ 
tion. Having taken the oath and kissed the Bible with a 
smack intended to show his great respect for that book, he 
bowed to his Honor with dignity, to the jury with familiarity, 
and then turned to the lawyers and stood in an attitude of 
superior attention. 

‘^Mr. Sellers, I believe?” began Mr. Braham. 

“ Beriah Sellers, Missouri,” was the courteous acknowledge¬ 
ment that the lawyer was correct. 

“Mr. Sellers, you know the parties here, you are a friend 
of the family ? ” 

'‘Know them all, from infancy, sir. It was me, sir, that 
induced Silas Hawkins, Judge Hawkins, to come to Missouri, 
and make his fortune. It was by my advice and in company 
with me, sir, that he went into the operation of—” 

“Yes, yes. Mr. Sellers, did you know a Major Lackland ? ” 

“Knew him well, sir, knew him and honored him, sir. 
He was one of the most remarkable men of our country, sir. 
A member of congress. He was often at my mansion sir, for 
weeks. He used to say to me, ‘ Col. Sellers, if you would 
go into politics, if I had you for a colleague, we should show 


THE TKUTH, THE WHOLE TRUTH. 


505 


Calhoun and Webster that the brain of the country didn’t 
lie east of the Alleganies’. But I said—” 

‘‘Yes, yes, I believe Major Lackland is not living, 
Colonel ? ” 

There was an almost imperceptible sense of pleasure betrayed 
in the Colonel’s face at this prompt acknowledgment of his 
title. 

“ Bless you, no. Died years ago, a miserable death, sir, a 
ruined man, a poor sot. He was suspected of selling his vote 
in Congress, and probably he did; the disgrace killed him, 
he was an outcast, sir, loathed by himself and by his constitu¬ 
ents. And I think, sir—” 

The Judge, “You will confine yourself. Col. Sellers, to 
the questions of the counsel.” 

“Of course, your honor. This,” continued the Colonel in 
confidential explanation, “ was twenty years ago. I shouldn’t 
have thought of referring to such a trifiing circumstance now. 
If I remember rightly, sir ”— 

A bundle of letters was here handed to the witness. 

“ Do you recognize that hand-writing ? ” 

“ As if it was my own, sir. It’s Major Lackland’s. I was 
knowing to these letters when Judge Llawkins received them. 
[The Colonel’s memory was a little at fault here. Mr. 
Hawkins had never gone into details with him on this subject.] 
He used to show them to me, and say, ‘ Col, Sellers you’ve 
a mind to untangle this sort of thing.’ Lord, how everything 
comes back to me. Laura was a little thing then. The Judge 
and I were just laying our plans to buy the Pilot Knob, 
and— 

Colonel, one moment. Your Honor, we put these letters 
in evidence.” 

The letters were a portion of the correspondence of Major 
Lackland with Silas Hawkins; parts of them were missing 
and important letters were referred to that were not here. 
They related, as the reader knows, to Laura’s father. Lack- 
land had come upon the track of a man who was searching 


606 


THE COUNSEL IN A WRANGLE. 


for a lost child in a Mississippi steamboat explosion years 
before. The man was lame in one leg, and appeared to be 
flitting from place to place. It seemed that Major Lackland 
got so close track of him that he was able to describe his per¬ 
sonal appearance and learn his name. But the letter contain¬ 
ing these particulars was lost. Once he heard of him at a 
hotel in Washington; but the man departed, leaving an empty 
trunk, the day before the major went there. There was 
something very mysterious in all his movements. 

Col. Sellers, continuing his testimony, said that he saw this 
lost letter, but could not now recall the name. Search for 
the supposed father had been continued by Lackland, Hawk¬ 
ins and himself for several years, but Laura was not informed 
of it till after the death of Hawkins, for fear of raising false 
hopes in her mind. 

Here the District Attorney arose and said, 

‘‘Your Honor, I must positively object to letting the wit¬ 
ness wander olf into all these irrelevant details.’’ 

Mr. Braham. “I submit, your Honor, that we cannot be 
interrupted in this manner. We have suffered the state to 
have full swing. How here is a witness, who has known the 
prisoner from infancy, and is competent to testify upon the 
one point vital to her safety. Evidently he is a gentleman 
of character, and his knowledge of the case cannot be shut 
out without increasing the aspect of persecution which the 
State’s attitude towards the prisoner already has assumed.” 

The wrangle continued, waxing hotter and hotter. The 
Colonel seeing the attention of the counsel and Court 
entirely withdrawn from him, thought he perceived here his 
opportunity. Turning and beaming upon the jury, he began 
simply to talk, but as the grandeur of his position grew upon 
him—his talk broadened unconsciously into an oratorial vein. 

“ You see how she was situated, gentlemen; poor child, it 
might have broken her heart to let her mind get to running 
on such a thing as that. You see, from what we could make 
out her father was lame in the left leg and had a deep scar on 


THE COLONEL IMPROVES THE OPPORTUNITY. 507 

his left forehead. And so ever since the day she found out 
she had another father, she never could run across a lame 
stranger without being taken all over with a shiver, and 
almost fainting where she stood. And the next minute slie 
would go right after that man. Once she stumbled on a 
stranger with a game leg, and she was the most grateful thing 



SEARCH FOR A FATHER. 


in this world—but it was the wrong leg, and it was days ana 
days before she could leave her bed. Once she found a man 
with a scar on his forehead, and she was just going to throw 
herself into his arms, but he stepped out just then, and there 
wasn’t anything the matter with his legs. Time and time 
again, gentlemen of the jury, has this poor suffering orphan 
flung herself on her knees with all her heart’s gratitude in 
her eyes before some scarred and crippled veteran, but always, 
always to be disappointed, always to be plunged into new 
despair—if his legs were right his scar was wrong, if his scar 
was right his legs were wrong. Never could And a man that 
would fill the bill. Gentlemen of the jury, you have hearts, 
you have feelings, you have warm human sympathies, you 
can feel for this poor sufiering child. Gentlemen of the jury. 



508 


THE COURT ASTONISHED. 



Judge turned towards the Colonel and remained for several 
seconds too surprised at this novel exhibition to speak. In 
this interval of silence, an appreciation of the situation grad¬ 
ually stole over the audience, and an explosion of laughter 
followed, in which even the Court and the bar could hardly 
keep from joining. 

Sheriff. “ Order in the Court.” 

TJiq Judge. “The witness will confine his remarks to 
answers to questions.” 


if I had time, if 1 had the opportunity, if I might be per¬ 
mitted to go on and tell you the thousands and thousands 
and thousands of mutilated strangers this poor girl has started 
out of cover, and hunted from city to city, from state to state, 
from continent to continent, till she has run them down and 
found they wan’t the ones, I know your hearts—” 

By this time the Colonel had become so warmed up, that 
his voice, had reached a pitch above that of the contending 
counsel; the lawyers suddenly stopped, and they and the 


TAKING ADVANTAGE OF A LULL. 












































THE COLONEL INTERRUPTED. 


509 


The Colonel turned courteously to the Judge and said, 

“ Certainly, your Honor, certainly. I am not well acquain¬ 
ted with the forms of procedure in the courts of Hew York, 
but in the West, sir, in the West—” 

The Judge. “ There,there, that will do, that will do.!’ 

“ You see, your Honor, there were no questions asked me, 
and I thought I would take advantage of the lull in the pro¬ 
ceedings to explain to the jury a very significant train of—” 
The Judge. “ That will <f6>, sir! Proceed Mr. Braham.” 
“ Col. Sellers, have you any reason to suppose that this 
man is still living ?” 

‘‘ Every reason, sir, every reason.” 

State why.” 

“ I have never heard of his death, sir. It has never como 
to my knowledge. In fact, sir, as I once said to Governor—” 
“ Will you state to the jury what has been the effect of the 
knowledge of this wandering and evidently unsettled being, 
supposed to be her father, upon the mind of Miss Hawkins 
for so many years 2” 

Question objected to. Question ruled out. 

Cross-examined. “ Major Sellers, what is your occupation 
The Colonel looked about him loftily, as if casting in his 
mind what would be the proper occupation of a person of 
such multifarious interests, and then said with dignity. 

A gentleman, sir. My father used to always say, sir ”— 
“ Capt. Sellers, did you ever see this man, this supposed 
father?” 

“ Ho, sir. But upon one occasion, old Senator Thompson 
said to me, its my opinion. Colonel Sellers ”— 

Did you ever see any body who had seen him ?” 

Ho, sir. It was reported around at one time, that ”— 

‘‘ That is all.” 

The defense then spent a day in the examination of medi¬ 
cal experts in insanity, who testified, on the evidence heard, 
that sufficient causes had occurred to produce an insane mind 
in the prisoner. Humerous cases were cited to sustain this 


510 


FOUR DAYS SPENT SUMMING UP. 


opinion. There was such a thing as momentary insanity, in 
which the person, otherwise rational to all appearances, was 
for the time actually bereft of reason, and not responsible 
for his acts. The causes of this momentary possession 
could often be found in the person’s life. [It afterwards came 
out that the chief expert for the defense, was paid a thousand 
dollars for looking into the case.] 

The prosecution consumed another day in the examination 
of experts refuting the notion of insanity. These causes 
might have produced insanity, but there was no evidence 
that they have produced it in this case, or that the prisoner 
was not at the time of the commission of the crime in full pos¬ 
session of her ordinary faculties. 

The trial had now lasted two weeks. It required four 
days now for the lawyers to “ sum up.” These arguments of 
the counsel were very important to their friends, and greatly 
enhanced their reputation at the bar; but they have small 
interest to us. Mr. Braham in his closing speech surpassed 
himself; his effort is still remembered as the greatest in the 
criminal annals of New York. 

Mr. Braham re-drew for the jury the picture of Laura’s 
early life; he dwelt long upon that painful episode of the 
pretended marriage and the desertion. Col. Selby, he said, 
belonged, gentlemen, to what is called the “ upper classes.” 
31 is the privilege of the “ upper classes ” to prey upon the 
sons and daughters of the people. The Hawkins family, 
though allied to the best blood of the South, were at the 
time in humble circumstances. He commented upon her 
parentage. Perhaps her agonized father, in his intervals of 
sanity, was still searching for his lost daughter. Would he 
one day hear that she had died a felon’s death ? Society had 
pursued her, fate had pursued her, and in a moment of de¬ 
lirium she had turned and defied fate and society. He dwelt 
upon the admission of base wrong in Col. Selby’s dying state¬ 
ment. He drew a vivid picture of the villain at last over¬ 
taken by the vengeance of Heaven. Would the jury say that 


AFFECTING APPEALS TO THE JURY. 


511 


this retributive justice, inflicted bj an outraged, a deluded 
woman, rendered irrational by the most cruel wrongs, was in 
the nature of a foul, premeditated murder ? Gentlemen, it 
is enough for me to look upon the life of this most beautiful 
and accomplished of her sex, blasted by the heartless villainy 
of man, without seeing, at the end of it, the horrible spectacle 
of a gibbet. Gentlemen, we are all human, we have all 
sinned, we all have need of mercy. But I do not ask mercy 
of you who are the guardians of society and of the poor 
waifs, its sometimes wronged victims; I ask only that justice 
which you and I shall need in that last dreadful hour, when 
death will be robbed of half its terrors if we can reflect that 
we have never wronged a human being. Gentlemen, the life 
of this lovely and once happy girl, this now stricken woman, 
is in your hands.” 

The jury were visibly affected. Half the court room was 
in tears. If a vote of both spectators and jury could have 
been taken then^ the verdict would have been, “ let her go, 
she has suffered enough.” 

But the district attorney had the closing argument. Calmly 
and without malice or excitement he reviewed the testimony. 
As the cold facts were unrolled, fear settled upon the listen¬ 
ers. There was no escape from the murder or its premedita¬ 
tion. Laura’s character as a lobbyist in Washington, which 
had been made to appear incidentally in the evidence, was 
also against her. The whole body of the testimony of the 
defense was shown to be irrelevant, introduced only to excite 
sympathy, and not giving a color of probability to the absurd 
supposition of insanity. The attorney then dwelt upon the 
insecurity of life in the city, and the growing immunity with 
which women committed murders. Mr. McFlinn made a 
very able speech, convincing the reason without touching the 
feelings. 

The Judge in his charge reviewed the testimony with great 
show of impartiality. He ended by saying that the verdict 
must be acquital or murder in the flrst degree. If you find 


512 


A STATE OF SUSPENSE. 


that the prisoner committed a homicide, in possession of her 
reason and with premeditation, your verdict will be accord¬ 
ingly. If you find she was not in her right mind, that she 
was the victim of insanity, hereditary or momentary, as it 
has been explained, your verdict will take that into account. 

As the Judge finished his charge, the spectators anxiously 
watched the faces of the j ury. It was not a remunerative 
study. In the court room the general feeling was in favor 
of Laura, but whether this feeling extended to the jury, their 
stolid faces did not reveal. The public outside hoped for a 
conviction, as it always does; it wanted an example; the 
newspapers trusted the jury would have the courage to do 
its duty. When Laura was convicted, then the public would 
turn around and abuse the governor if he did not pardon her. 

The jury went out. Mr. Braham preserved his serene 
confidence, but Laura’s friends were dispirited. Washington 
and Col. Sellers had been obliged to go to Washington, and 
they had departed under the unspoken fear that the verdict 
would be unfavorable,—a disagreement was the best they 
could hope for, and money was needed. The necessity of the 
passage of the University bill was now imperative. 

The Court waited for some time, but the jury gave no 
signs of coming in. Mr. Braham said it was extraordinary. 
The Court then took a recess for a couple of hours. Upon 
again coming in, word was brought that the jury had not yet 
^agreed. 

But the jury had a question. The point upon which they 
wanted instruction was this:—They wanted to know if Col. 
Sellers was related to the Hawkins family. The court then 
adjourned till morning. 

Mr. Braham, who was in something of a pet, remarked to 
Mr. O’Toole that they must have been deceived—that jury¬ 
man with the broken nose could read I 


CHAPTER LVII. 

“ Wegotogwen ga-ijiwebadogwen; gouima ta-matchi-inakamigad.” 

T he momentous day was at hand—a day that promised to 
make or mar the fortunes of the Hawkins family for all 
time. Washington Hawkins and Col. Sellers were both up 
early, for neither of them could sleep. Congress was expir¬ 
ing, and was passing bill after bill as if they were gasps 
and each likely to be its last. The University was on 
file for its third reading this day, and to-morrow Washing¬ 
ton would be a millionaire and Sellers no longer impe¬ 
cunious ; but this day, also, or at farthest the next, the jury 
in Laura’s case would come to a decision of some kind or 
other—they would find her guilty, Washington secretly feared, 
and then the care and the trouble would all come back again 
and there would be wearing months of besieging judges for 
new trials ; on this day, also, the re-election of Mr. Dilworthy 
to the Senate would take place. So Washington’s mind was 
in a state of turmoil; there were more interests at stake than 
it could handle with serenity. He exulted when he thought 
of his millions; he was filled with dread when he thought of 
Laura. But Sellers was excited and happy. He said: 

“ Everything is going right, everything’s going perfectly 
right. Pretty soon the telegrams will begin to rattle in, and 
then you’ll see, my boy. Let the jury do what they please; 
what difference is it going to make ? To-morrow we can send 
33 - 613 


614 


RED TAPE AND ROUTINE IN THE LAW. 


a million to New York and set the lawyers at work on the 
judges; bless your heart they will go before judge after 
judge and exhort and beseech and pray and shed tears. They 
always do; and they always win, too. And they will win 
this time. They will get a writ of habeas corpus, and a stay 
of proceedings, and a supersedeas, and a new trial and a 
nolle prosequi, and there you are! That’s the routine, and 
it’s no trick at all to a New York lawyer. That’s the regular 
routine—everything’s red tape and routine in the law, you 
see; it’s all Greek to you, of course, but to a man who is ac¬ 
quainted with those things it’s mere—I’ll explain it to you 
sometime. Everything’s going to glide right along easy and 
comfortable now. You’ll see, Washington, you’ll see how 

it will be. And then, let me think.Dilworthy will be 

elected to-day, and by day after to-morrow night he will be 
in New York ready to put in his shovel—and you haven’t 
lived in Washington all this time not to know that the people 
who walk right by a Senator whose term is up without hardly 



TERM EXPIRED. RE-ELECTED. 


seeing him will be down at the deepo to say ^ Welcome back 
and God bless you. Senator, I’m glad to see you, sir ! ’ when 
he comes along back re-elected, you know. Well, you see, 








































FROM OLD SELLERS TO GENERAL SELLERS. 615 

his influence was naturally running low when he left here, 
but now he has got a new six-years’ start, and his suggestions 
will simply just weigh a couple of tons a-piece day after to¬ 
morrow. Lord bless you lie could rattle through that habeas 
corpus and supersedeas and all those things for Laura all by 
himself if he wanted to, when he gets back.” 

“ I hadn’t thought of that,” said Washington, brightening? 
‘‘ but it is so. A newly-elected Senator is a power, I know 
that.” 

Yes indeed he is.—Why it is just human nature. Look 
at me. When we first came here, I was Mr. Sellers, and 
Major Sellers, and Captain Sellers, but nobody could ever get 
it right, somehow; but the minute our bill went through 
the House, I was Colonel Sellers every time. And nobody 
could do enough for me ; and whatever I said was wonderful, 
Sir, it was always wonderful; I never seemed to say any flat 
things at all. It was Colonel won’t you come and dine with us ; 
and Colonel why dorCt we ever see you at our house; and 
the Colonel says this; and the Colonel says that; and we 
know such-and-such is so-and-so, because husband heard CoL 
Sellers say so. Don’t you see ? Well, the Senate ad journed 
and left our bill high and dry, and I’ll be hanged if I warn’t 
Old Sellers from that day till our bill passed the House again 
last week. How I’m the Colonel again ; and if I were to eat 
all the dinners I am invited to, I reckon I’d wear my teeth 
down level with my gums in a couple of weeks.” 

Well I do wonder what you will be to-morrow. Colonel, 
after the President signs the bill 

‘‘ General^ sir!—General, without a doubt. Yes, sir, to¬ 
morrow it will be General, let me congratulate you, 
sir; General, you’ve done a great work, sir ;—you’ve 
done a great work for the niggro ; Gentlemen, allow me the 
honor to introduce my friend General Sellers, the humane 
friend of the niggro. Lord bless me, you’ll see the news¬ 
papers say. General Sellers and servants arrived in the city 
last night and is stopping at the Fifth Avenue; and General 


516 


THE COLONEL TOUCHED AND PLEASED. 


Sellers has accepted a reception and banquet bj the Cosmo¬ 
politan Club ; you’ll see the General’s opinions quoted, too— 
and what the General has to say about the propriety of a new 
trial and a habeas corpus for the unfortunate Miss Hawkins 
will not be without weight in influential quarters, I can tell 
you.” 

And I want to be the first to shake your faithful old hand 
and salute you wdth your new honors, and I want to do it now 



THE “faithful OLD HAND.” 


—General!” said Washington, suiting the action to the word, 
and accompanying it with all the meaning that a cordial 
grasp and eloquent eyes could give it. 

The Colonel was touched ; he was pleased and proud, too; 
his face answered for that. 

Hot very long after breakfast the telegrams began to arrive. 
The first was from Braham, and ran thus : 

“We feel certain that the verdict will be rendered to-day. Be it good or 
bad, let it find us ready to make the next move instantly, whatever it may 
be.” 































TELEGRAMS PROVE TOO SLOW. 


617 


“ That’s the right talk,” said Sellers. “ That Braham’s a 
wonderful man. He was the only man there that really un¬ 
derstood me; he told me so himself, afterwards.” 

The next telegram was from Mr. Dilworthy : 

“ I have not only brought over the Great Invincible, but through him a 
dozen more of the opposition. Shall be re-elected to-day by an overwhelm¬ 
ing majority.” 

“ Good again!” said the Colonel. That man’s talent for 
organization is something marvelous. He wanted me to go 
out there and engineer that thing, but I said. No, Dilworthy, 
I must be on hand here, both on Laura’s account and the 
bill’s—but you’ve no trifling genius for organization yourself, 
said I —and I was right. You go ahead, said I —^you can fix 
it—and so he has. But I claim no credit for that—if I 
stiffened up his back-bone a little, I simply put him in the 
way to make his fight—didn’t make it myself. He has cap¬ 
tured Noble— I consider that a splendid piece of diplomacy— 
Splendid, sir!” 

By and by came another dispatch from New York: 

“ Jury still out. Laura calm and firm as a statue. The report that the 
jury have brought her in guilty is false and premature.” 

“ Premature 1 ” gasped Washington, turning white. “ Then 
they all expect that sort of a verdict, when it comes.” 

And so did he; but he had not had courage enough to put 
it into words. He had been preparing himself for the worst, 
but after all his preparation the bare suggestion of the possi¬ 
bility of such a verdict struck him cold as death. 

The friends grew impatient, now; the telegrams did not 
come fast enough ; even the lightning could not keep up with 
their anxieties. They walked the floor talking disjointedly 
and listening for the door-bell. Telegram after telegram 
came. Still no result. By and by there was one which con¬ 
tained a single line: 

“ Court now coming in after brief recess to hear verdict. Jury ready.” 

“ Oh, I wish they would finish ! ” said Washington. “ This 
suspense is killing me by inches ! ” 

Then came another telegram : 

“ Another hitch somewhere. Jury want a little more time and further 
instructions.” 


518 


STARTLING NEWS. 


“Well, well, well, this is trying,” said the Colonel. And 
after a pause, “ No dispatch from Dilworthy for two hours,, 
now. Even a dispatcli from him would be better than noth¬ 
ing, just to vary this thing.” 

They waited twenty minutes. It seemed twenty hours. 

“Come!” said Washington. “I can’t wait for the tele¬ 
graph boy to come all the way up here. Let’s go down to 
Newspaper Row—meet him on the way.” 

While they were passing along the Avenue, they saw some 



one putting up a great display-sheet on the bulletin hoard of 
a newspaper office, and an eager crowd of men was collecting 
about the place. Washington and the Colonel ran to the spot 
and read this: 

“ Tremendous Sensation! Startling news from Saint’s Rest! On first ballot 
for U. S. Senator, when voting w’as about to begin, Mr. Noble rose in his place 
and drew forth a package, walked forward and laid it on the Speaker s desk, say¬ 
ing, ‘ This contains $7,000 in bank bills and was given me by Senator Dilworthy 
in his bed-chamber at midnight last night to buy my vote for him—I wish the 








































TO THE CAPITOL! FLY! 


519 


Speaker to count the money and retain it to pay the expense of prosecuting this 
’.nfamous traitor for bribery.’ The whole legislature was stricken speechless 
with dismay and astonishment. Noble further said that there were fifty members 
present with money in their pockets, placed there by Dilworthy to buy their 
votes. Amidst unparalleled excitement the ballot was now taken, and J, W. 
Smith elected U. S. Senator; Dilworthy receiving not one vote! Noble promise* 
damaging ezpomres concerning Dilworthy and certain measures of his now pending 
in Congress. 

“ Good heavens and earth !” exclaimed the Colonel. 

To the Capitol!” said AYashington. “ Fly 1” 

And they did fly. Long before they got there the new&- 
boys were running ahead of tliem with Extras, hot from the 
press, announcing the astounding news. 

Arrived in the gallery of the Senate, the friends saw a 
curious spectacle—every Senator held an Extra in his hand 
and looked as interested as if it contained news of the destruc¬ 
tion of the eartli. IS^ot a single member was paying the least 
attention to the business of the hour. 

The Secretary, in a loud voice, was just beginning to read 
the title of a bill: 

“House-Bill-Ko.- 4,231,-An-Act-to-Found - and -Incorporate- 
the Knobs-Industrial-University !-Kead - first-and-second-tiine 
—considered-in-committee-of - the - whole - ordered - engrossed- 
and-passed-to-third-reading-and-iinal-passage! ” 

The President —‘‘ Third reading of the 'bill! ’’ 

The two friends shook in their shoes. Senators threw 
down their extras and snatched a word or two with each other 
in whispers. Then the gavel rapped to command silence 
while the names were called on the ayes and nays. AVash- 
ington grew paler and paler, weaker and weaker while the 
lagging list progressed; and when it was finished, his head 
fell helplessly forward on his arms. The fight was fought, 
the long struggle was over, and he was a pauper. Not a 
man had voted for the bill! 

Col. Sellers was bewildered and well nigh paralyzed, him¬ 
self. But no man could long consider his own troubles in 
the presence of such sufiering as AYashington’s. He got him 


520 


A CLOUD WITH A SILVER LINING. 


up and supported him—almost carried him indeed—out of 
the building and into a carriage. All the way home Wash¬ 
ington lay with his face against the Colonel’s shoulder and 
merely groaned and wept. The Colonel tried as well as he 
could under the dreary circumstances to hearten him a little, 
but it was of no use. Washington was past all hope of cheer, 
now. He only said: 

“ Oh, it is all over—it is all over for good, Colonel. We 
must beg our bread, now. We never can get up again. It 
was our last chance, and it is gone. They will hang Laura! 
My God they will hang her! N othing can save the poor 
girl now. Oh, I wish with all my soul they would hang me 
instead! ” 

Arrived at home, Washington fell into a chair and buried 
his face in his hands and gave full way to his misery. The 
Colonel did not know where to turn nor what to do. The 
servant maid knocked at the door and passed in a telegram, 
saying it had come while they were gone. 

The Colonel tore it open and read with the voice of a man- 
of-war’s broadside: 

“Yerdict of jtjry,Not Guilty and Laura is free!”' 









COL SELLERS AND WASHINGTON RETURN HOME AFTER THE VOTE. 






















































































CHAPTER LVIIL 


r 


Papel y tinta y poco jueticia. 


T he court room was packed on the morning on which 
the verdict of the jury was expected, as it had been 
every day of the trial, and by the same spectators, who had 
followed its progress with such intense interest. 

There is a delicious moment of excitement which the 
frequenter of trials well knows, and which he would not miss 
for the world. It is that instant when the foreman of the 
jury stands up to give the verdict, and before he has opened 
his fateful lips. 

The court assembled and waited. It was an obstinate jury. 
It even had another question—this intelligent jury—to ask 
the judge this morning. 

The question was this:—“Were the doctors clear that the 
deceased had no disease which might soon have carried him 
oif, if he had not been shot There was evidently one jury¬ 
man who didn’t want to waste life, and was willing to strike 

521 


022 


THE VERDICT. 


a general average, as the jury always does in a civil case, 
deciding not according to the evidence but reaching the 
verdict by some occult mental process. 

During the delay the spectators exhibited unexampled 
patience, finding amusement and relief in the slightest move¬ 
ments of the court, the prisoner and the lawyers. Mi-o Bra- 
ham divided with Laura the attention of the house. Bets 
were made by the sheri ff s deputies on the verdict, with large 
odds in favor of a disagreement. 

It was afternoon when it was announced that the jury was 
coming in. The reporters took their places and were all 
attention; the judge and lawyers were in their seats; the 
ci'owd swayed and pushed in eager expectancy, as the jury 
walked in and stood up in silence. 

Judge. “ Gentlemen, have you agreed upon your verdict 

Foreman. “We have.” 

Judge. “ What is it ? ” 

Foreman. “Not Guilty.” 

A shout went up from the entire room and a tumult of 
cheering which the court in vain attempted to quell. For a 
few moments all order was lost. The spectators crowded 
within the bar and surrounded Laura who, calmer than any¬ 
one else, was supporting her aged mother, who had almost 
fainted from excess of joy. 

And now occurred one of those beautiful incidents which no 
fiction-writer would dare to imagine, a scene of touching 
pathos, creditable to our fallen humanity. In the eyes of the 
women of the audience Mr. Braham was the hero of the 
occasion; he had saved the life of the prisoner; and besides he 
was such a handsome man. The women could not restrain 
their long pent-up emotions. They threw themselves upon 
Mr. Braham in a transport of gratitude; they kissed him 
again and again, the young as well as the advanced in years, 
the married as well as the ardent single women; they improved 
the opportunity with a touching self-sacrifice ; in the words 
of a newspaper of the day they “ lavished him with kisses.” 


THE KISSING OF BRAHAM. 


523 


It was something sweet to do; and it would be sweet for a 
woman to remember in after years, that she had kissed 



A COURT-IN SCENE. 


Braham ! Mr. Braham himself received these fond assaults 
with the gallantry of his nation, enduring the ugly, and 
heartily paying back beauty in its own coin. 

This beautiful scene is still known in 'New York as “ the 
kissing of Braham.” 

When the tumult of congratulation had a little spent itself, 
and order was restored. Judge O’Shaunnessy said that it now 
became his duty to provide for the proper custody and 
treatment of the acquitted. The verdict of the jury having 
left no doubt that the woman was of an unsound mind, with a 
kind of insanity dangerous to the safety of the community, 
she could not be permitted to go at large. In accordance 
with the directions of the law in such cases,” said the Judge, 
and in obedience to the dictates of a wise humanity, I hereby 
commit Laura Hawkins to the care of the Superintendent of 
the State Hospital for Insane Criminals, to be held in 
confinement until the State Commissioners on Insanity shall 
order her discharge. Mr. Sheriff, you will attend at once to 
the execution of this decree.” 











524 


LAURA PRONOUNCED INSANE. 


Laura was overwhelmed and terror-stricken. She had 
expected to walk forth in freedom in a few moments. The 
revulsion was terrible. Her mother appeared like one shaken 
with an ague fit. Laura insane! And about to be locked up 
wuth madmen! She had never contemplated this. Mr. 
Braham said he should move at once for a writ of habeas 
corpus. 

But the judge could not do less than his duty, the law must 
have its way. As in the stupor of a sudden calamity, and no^.. 
fully comprehending it, Mrs. Hawkins saw Laura led away by 
the officer. 

With little space for thought she was rapidly driven to the 
railway station, and conveyed to the Hospital for Lunatic 
Criminals. It was only when she was within this vast and 
grim abode of madness that she realized the horror of her sit¬ 
uation. It was only when she was received by the kind physi¬ 
cian and read pity in his eyes, and saw his look of hopeless 
incredulity when she attempted to tell him that she was not 
insane; it was only when she passed through the ward to 
which she was consigned and saw the horrible creatures, the 
victims of a double calamity, whose dreadful faces she was 
hereafter to see daily, and was locked into the small, bare 
room that was to be her home, that all her fortitude forsook 
her. She sank upon the bed, as soon as she was left alone— 
she had been searched by the matron—and tried to think. 
But her brain was in a whirl. She recalled Braham’s speech, 
she recalled the testimony regarding her lunacy. She won¬ 
dered if she were not mad ; she felt that she soon should be 
among these loathsome creatures. Better almost to have 
died, than to slowly go mad in this confinement. 

—We beg the reader’s pardon. This is not history, which 
has just been written. It is really wdiat would have occurred 
if this were a novel. If this w^ere a work of fiction, we should 
not dare to dispose of Laura otherwise. True art and any 
attention to dramatic proprieties required it. The novelist 
who would turn loose upon society an insane murderess 


FREE AGAIN. 


525 



could not escape condemnation. Besides, the safety of soci¬ 
ety, the decencies of criminal procedure, what we call our 
modern civilization, all would demand that Laura should be 
disposed of in the manner we have described. Foreigners, 
who read this sad story, will be unable to understand any other 
termination of it. 

But this is history and not fiction. There is no such law 
or custom as that to which his Honor is supposed to have 
referred ; Judge O’Shaunnessy would not probably pay any 
attention to it if there were. There is no Hospital for Insane 
Criminals; there is no State commission of lunacy. What 
actually occurred when the tumult in the court room had sub¬ 
sided the sagacious reader will now learn. 

Laura left the court room, accompanied by her mother 
and other friends, amid the congratulations of those assem- 


POPULAR ENDORSEMENT. 

bled, and was cheered as she entered a carriage, and drove 
away. How sweet was the sunlight, how exhilarating the 
sense of freedom! Were not these following cheers the 








596 


BAD NEWS; THE BILL LOST. 


expression of popular approval and alfeotion? Was she not 
the heroine of the hour ? 

It was with a feeling of triumph that Laura reached her 
hotel, a scornful feeling of victory over society with its own 
weapons. 

Mrs. Hawkins shared not at all in this feeling; she was bro¬ 
ken with the disgrace and the long anxiety. 

'‘Thank God, Laura,” she said, “it is over. Now we will 
^o away from this hateful city. Let us go home at once.” 

“ Mother,” replied Laura, speaking with some tenderness, 

i cannot go with you. There, don’t cry, I cannot go back 
to that life.” 

Mrs. Hawkins was sobbing. This was more cruel than 
anything else, for she had a dim notion of what it would be 
to leave Laura to herself. 

“ No, mother, you have been everything to me. You 
know how dearly I love you. But I cannot go back.” 

A boy brought in a telegraphic despatch. Laura took It 
and read i 

“ The bill is lost. Dilworthy is ruined. (Signed) Washington.” 

For a moment the words swam before her eyes. The next 
her eyes flashed fire as she handed the dispatch to her mother 
and bitterly said, 

“ The world is against me. Well, let it be, let it. I am 
against it.” 

“ This is a cruel disappointment,” said Mrs. Hawkins, to 
whom one grief more or less did not much matter now, “ to 
you and Washington ; but we must humbly bear it.” 

“ Bear it,” replied Laura scornfully, “ I’ve all my life borne 
it, and fate has thwarted me at every step.” 

A servant came to the door to say that there was a gentle¬ 
man below who wished to speak with Miss Hawkins. “ J. 
Adolphe Griller” was the name Laura read on the card. “I 
do not know such a person. He probably comes from Wash¬ 
ington. Send him up.” 

Mr. Griller entered. He was a small man, slovenly in 
dress, his tone confidential, his manner wholly void of ani- 


MR. GRILLER THE LECTURE AGENT. 


527 


mation, all liis features below the forehead protruding—par¬ 
ticularly the apple of his throat—hair without a kink in it, a 
hand with no grip, a meek, hang-dog countenance. He was 
a falsehood done in flesh and blood; for wdiile every visible 
sign about him proclaimed him a poor, witless, useless weak¬ 
ling, the truth was that he had the brains to plan great enter¬ 
prises and the pluck to carry them through. That was his 
reputation, and it was a deserved one. 

He softly said: 

‘‘ I called to see you on business, Miss Hawkins. You have 
my card ? ” 

Laura bowed. 

Mr. Griller continued to purr, as softly as before: 

‘‘ I will proceed to business. I am a business man. I am 
a lecture-agent. Miss Hawkins, and as soon as I saw that you 
w^ere acquitted, it occurred to me that an early interview 
would be mutually beneficial.” 

I don't understand you, sir,” said Laura coldly. 

“ Ho ? You see. Miss Hawkins, this is your opportunity. 
If you will enter the lecture field under good auspices, you 
will carry everything before you.” 

“ But, sir, I never lectured, I haven’t any lecture, I don’t 
know anything about it.” 

‘‘ Ah, madam, that makes no difference—no real difference. 
It is not necessary to be able to lecture in order to go into 
the lecture field. If one’s name is celebrated all over the 
land, especially, and if she is also beautiful, she is certain to 
draw large audiences.” 

But what should I lecture about ? ” asked Laura, begin¬ 
ning in spite of herself to be a little interested as well as 
amused. 

‘‘ Oh, why, woman—something about woman, I should 
say; the marriage relation, woman’s fate, anything of that 
sort. Call it The Kevelations of a Woman’s Life; now, 
there’s a good title. I wouldn’t want any better title than that. 
I’m prepared to make you an offer. Miss Hawkins, a liberal 
offer,—twelve thousand dollars for thirty nights.” 


528 


PHILIP AGAIN AT THE MINE. 


Laura thought. She hesitated. 'Why not ? It would give 
her employment, money. She must do something : 

I will think of it, and let you know soon. But still, there 
is very little likelihood that I—however, we will not discuss 
it further now.” 

Kemember, that the sooner we get to work the better. 
Miss Hawkins, public curiosity is so fickle. Good day, 
madam.” 

The close of the trial released Mr. Harry Brierly and left 
him free to depart upon his long talked of Pacific-coast mis¬ 
sion. He was very mysterious about it, even to Philip. 

‘‘It’s confidential, old boy,” he said, ^'a little scheme we 
have hatched up. I don’t mind telling you that it’s a good 
deal bigger thing than that in Missouri, and a sure thing. I 
wouldn’t take a half a million just for my share. And it will 
open something for you, Phil. You will hear from me.” 

Philip did hear from Harry a few months afterwardc 
Everything promised splendidly, but there was a little delay. 
Could Phil let him have a hundred, say for ninety days ? 

Philip himself hastened to Philadelphia, and, as soon as 
the spring opened, to the mine at Ilium, and began trans¬ 
forming the loan he had received from ’Squire Montague into 
laborers’ wages. He was haunted with many anxieties ; in the 
first place, Buth was overtaxing her strength in her hospital 
labors, and Philip felt as if he must move heaven and earth 
to save her from such toil and suffering. His increased pe¬ 
cuniary obligation oppressed him. It seemed to him also 
that he had been one cause of the misfortune to the Bolton 
family, and that he was dragging into loss and ruin every¬ 
body who associated with him. He worked on day after day 
and week after week, with a feverish anxiety. 

It would be wicked, thought Philip, and impious, to pray 
for luck; he felt that perhaps he ought not to ask a blessing 
upon the sort of labor that was only a venture; but yet in 
that daily petition, which this very faulty and not very con¬ 
sistent young Christian gentleman put up, he prayed earnestly 


SAD PAKTING OF LAUEA AND HER MOTHER. 529 

enough for Kutli and for the Boltons and for those whom he 
loved and who trusted in him, and that his life might not be 
a misfortune to them and a failure to himself. 

Since this young fellow went out into the world from hia 
ISTew England home, he had done some things that he would 
rather his mother should not know, things maybe that he 
would shrink from telling Euth. At a certain green age 
young gentlemen are sometimes afraid of being called milk¬ 
sops, and Philip’s associates had not always been the most 
select, such as these historians would have chosen for him, or 
whom at a later period he would have chosen for himself. It 
seemed inexplicable, for instance, that his life should have 
been thrown so much with his college acquaintance, Henry 
Brierly. 

Yet, this was true of Philip, that in whatever company he 
had been he had never been ashamed to stand up for the 
principles he learned from his mother, and neither-raillery 
nor looks of wonder turned him from that daily habit he 
learned at his mother’s knees. Even flippant Harry respected 
this, and perhaps it was one of the reasons why Harry and 
all who knew Philip trusted him implicitly. And yet it 
must be confessed that Philip did not convey the impression 
to the world of a very serious young man, or of a man who 
might not rather easily fall into temptation. One looking 
for a real hero would have to go elsewhere. 

The parting between Laura and her mother was exceed¬ 
ingly painful to both. It was as if two friends parted on a 
wide plain, the one to journey towards the setting and the 
other towards the riMng sun, each comprehending that every 
step henceforth must separate their lives wider and wider. 


34 


CHAPTER LIX. 

Ebok imana ebok ofut idibi. 


Epih Provwt 


*0 /cciQfcivog co5’ ecpa 
XaXa rov ocpiv la^mv 
Evdvv 1Q7J rov trdiQOv ([ifisVf 
Kal iiij CKoXia cpQOVEiv, 

Mishittconaeog noDwaog 
ayeuuhkone neen, 

Nashpe nuskesukqunnonut 
ho, ho, nunnaumunun. 


W HEK Mr. I^oble’s bombshell fell in Senator Dilwor- 
thy’s camp, the statesman was disconcerted for a 
moment.—Eor a moment; that was all. The next moment 
he was calmly up and doing. From the centre of our coun¬ 
try to its circumference, nothing was talked of but Mr. 
Noble’s terrible revelation, and the people were furious. 
Mind, they were not furious because bribery was uncommon 
in our public life, but merely because here was another case. 
Perhaps it did not occur to the nation of good and worthy 
people that while they continued to sit comfortably at home 
and leave the true source of our political power (the “ pri¬ 
maries,”) in the hands of saloon-keepers, dog-fanciers and hod- 
carriers, they could go on expecting “ another ” case of this 
kind, and even dozens and hundreds of them, and never be 

630 


WHAT SENATOR DILWORTHY WAS CALLED. 


531 


disappointed. However, they may have thought that to sit 
at home and grumble would some day right the evil. 

Yes, the nation was excited, but Senator Dilworthy was 
calm—what was left of him after the explosion of the shell. 
Calm, and up and doing. What did he do first ? What 
would you do first, after you had tomahawked your mother 
at the breakfast table for putting too much sugar in your 
cofifee? You would “ ask for a suspension of public opinion.’’ 
That is what Senator Dilworthy did. It is the custom. He 
got the usual amount of suspension. Far and wide he was 
called a thief, a briber, a promoter of steamship subsidies^ 
railway swindles, robberies of the government in all possible 
forms and fashions. Newspapers and everybody else called 
him a pious hypocrite, a sleek, oily fraud, a reptile who ma> 
nipulated temperance movements, prayer meetings, Sunday 
schools, public charities, missionary enterprises, all for his 
private benefit. And as these charges were backed up by 
what seemed to be good and suflficient evidence, they were 
believed with national unanimity. 

Then Mr. Dilworthy made another move. He moved in¬ 
stantly to Washington and demanded an investigation.” 
Even this could not pass without comment. Many papers 
used language to this effect: * 

“ Senator Dilworthy’s remains have demanded an investigation. This sounds 
fine and bold and innocent; but when we reflect that they demand it at the 
hands of the Senate of the United States, it simply becomes matter for derision. 
One might as well set the gentlemen detained in the public prisons to trying each 
other. This investigation is likely to be like all other Senatorial ‘ investiga¬ 
tions ’—amusing but not useful. Query. Why does the Senate still stick to 
this pompous word, ‘Investigation?’ One does not blindfold one’s self in order 
to investigate an object.” 

Mr. Dilworthy appeared in his place in the Senate and 
offered a resolution appointing a committee to investigate his 
case. It carried, of course, and the committee was appointed. 
Straightway the newspapers said : 

“ Under the guise of appointing a committee to investigate the late Mr. Dilwor¬ 
thy, the Senate yesterday appointed a committee to investigate his accuser^ Mr 
Noble. This is the exact spirit and meaning of the resolution, and the committee 
cannot try anybody but Mr. Noble without overstepping its authority. That Mr. 


532 


WHO IS INVESTIGATED? 


Dilworthy had the effrontery to offer such a resolution will surprise no one .) and 
that the Senate could entertain it without blushing and pass it without shame 
will surprise no one. We are now reminded of a note which we have received 
from the notorious burglar Murphy, in which he finds fault with a statement of 
ours to the effect that he had served one term in the penitentiary and also one 
in the U. S. Senate. He says, ‘ The latter statement is untrue and does me 
great injustice.’ After an unconscious sarcasm like that, further comment is 
unnecessary,” 

And yet the Senate was roused hy the Dilwortliy trouble. 
Many speeches were made. One Senator (who was accused 
in the public prints of selling his chances of re-election to his 
opponent for $50,000 and had not yet denied the charge) said 
that, ‘‘ the presence in the Capital of such a creature as this 
man Noble, to testify against a brother member of their 
body, was an insult to the Senate.” 

Another Senator said, Let the investigation go on ; and 



ONE OF THE INSULTED MEMBERS. 


let it make an example of this man Noble; let it teach him 
and men like him that they could not attack the reputation 
of a United States Senator with impunity.” 

Another said he was glad the investigation was to be had. 










MR. NOBLE BEFORE THE COMMITTEE. 533 

for it was high time that the Senate should crush some cur 
like this man Noble, and thus show his kind that it was able 
and resolved to uphold its ancient dignity.” 

A by-stander laughed, at this finely delivered peroration, 
and said, 

‘‘ Why, this is the Senator who franked his baggage home 
through the mails last week—registered, at that. However, 
perhaps he was merely engaged in ‘ upholding the ancient 
dignity of the Senate,’ then.” 

“No, the modern dignity of it,” said another by-stander, 
“ It don’t resemble its ancient dignity, but it fits its modern 
-style like a glove.” 

There being no law against making ofiensive remarks about 
IT. S. Senators, this conversation, and others like it, continued 
without let or hindrance. But our business is with the in¬ 
vestigating committee. 

Mr. Noble appeared before the Committee of the Senate, 
and testified to the following effect: 

He said that he was a member of the State legislature of the 
Happy-Land-of-Canaan; that on the-day of-he as¬ 

sembled himself together at the city of Saint’s Best, the capi¬ 
tal of the State, along with his brother legislators; that he 
was known to be a political enemy of Mr. Dilworthy and 
bitterly opposed to his re-election ; that Mr. Dilworthy came 
to Saint’s Best and was reported to be buying pledges of votes 
with money ; that the said Dilworthy sent for him to come 
to his room in the hotel at night, and he went; was intro¬ 
duced to Mr. Dilworthy ; called two or three times after 
ward at Dilworthy’s request—usually after midnight; Mr. 
Dilworthy urged him to vote for him ; Noble declined ; Dil¬ 
worthy argued ; said he was bound to be elected, and could 
then ruin him (Noble) if he voted no ; said he had every rail¬ 
way and every public office and stronghold of political power 
in the State under his thumb, and could set up or pull down 
any man he chose; gave instances showing where and how 
he had used this power; if Noble would vote for him he 
would make him a Bepresentative in Congress ; Noble still 


534 


HIS STORY OF THE BRIBING. 


declined to vote, and said lie did not believe Dilwortliy was 
going to be elected ; Dilwortliy showed a list of men who 
would vote for him—^a majority of the legislature; gave 
further proofs of his power by telling Noble everything the 
opposing party had done or said in secret caucus; claimed 
that his spies reported everything to him, and that- 

Here a member of the Committee objected that this evi¬ 
dence was irrelevant and also in opposition to the spirit of 
the Committee’s instructions,.because if these things reflected 
upon any one it was upon Mr. Dilwortliy. The chairman 
said, let the person proceed with his statement—the Com¬ 
mittee could exclude evidence tliat did not bear upon the case, 

Mr. Noble continued. He said that his party would cast 
him out if he voted for Mr. Dilwortliy ; Dilwortliy said that 
that would inure to his benefit because he would tlien be a 
recognized friend of his (Dilworthy’s) and he could consist¬ 
ently exalt him politically and make his fortune ; Noble said 
he was poor, and it was hard to tempt him so ; Dilwortliy 
said he would fix that; he said, Tell me what you want, and 
say you will vote for meNoble could not say ; Dilwortliy 
said ‘‘ I will give you $5,000—” 

A Committee man said, impatiently, that this stuff was all 
outside the case, and valuable time was being wasted; this 
was all a plain reflection upon a brother Senator. The Chair¬ 
man said it was the quickest way to proceed, and the evi¬ 
dence need have no weight. 

Mr. Noble continued. He said he told Dilwortliy that 
$5,000 was not much to pay for a man’s honor, character and 
everything that was worth having; Dilwortliy said he was 
surprised; he considered $5,000 a fortune for some men; 
asked what Noble’s figure was; Noble said he could not 
think $10,000 too little ; Dilwortliy said it was a great deal 
too much; he would not do it for any other man, but he had 
conceived a liking for Noble, and where he liked a man his 
heart yearned to help him ; he was aware that Noble was 
poor, and had a family to support, and that he bore an un¬ 
blemished reputation at home; for such a man and such a 



PRICE OF HONOR AND CHARACTER. 


535 


man’s influence lie could do much, and feel that to help such 
a man would be an act that would have its reward ; the strug¬ 
gles of the poor always touched him ; he believed that hToble 
would make a good use of this money and that it would cheer 
many a sad heart and needy home; he would give the 
$10,000 ; all he desired in return was that when the balloting 
began, Noble should cast his vote for him and should explain 
to the legislature that upon looking into the charges against 
Mr. Dilworthy of bribery, corruption, and forwarding stealing 
measures in Congress he had found them to be base calumnies 
upon a man whose motives were pure and whose character 
was stainless ; he then took from his pocket $2,000 in bank 



TOUCHED BV THE STRUGGLES OF THE POOR. 


bills and handed them to Noble, and got another package 
containg $5,000 out of his trunk and gave to him also. He— 
A Committee man jumped up, and said : 

‘‘ At last, Mr. Chairman, this shameless person has arrived 
at the point. This is sufiicient and conclusive. By his own 
confession he has received a bribe, and did it deliberately. 

































536 


SENATOE DILWOKTHY ON THE STAND. 


This is a grave offense, and cannot be passed over in silence, 
sir. By the terms of our instructions we can now proceed to 
mete out to him such punishment as is meet for one who has 
maliciously brought disrespect upon a Senator of the United 
States. We have no need to hear the rest of his evidence.’’ 

The Chairman said it would be better and more regular to 
proceed with the investigation according to the usual forms. 
A note would be made of Mr. I^oble’s admission. 

Mr. Noble continued. He said that it was now far past 
midnight; that he took his leave and went straight to certain 
legislators, told them everything, made them count the money, 
and also told them of the exposure he would make in joint 
convention ; he made that exposure, as all the world knew. 
The rest of the $10,000 was to be paid the day after Dil- 
worthy was elected. 

Senator Dilworthy was now asked to take the stand and 
tell what he knew about the man Noble. The Senator wiped 
his mouth with his handkerchief, adjusted his white cravat, 
and said that but for the fact that public morality required 
an example, for the warning of future Nobles, he would beg 
that in Christian charity this poor misguided creature might 
be forgiven and set free. He said that it was but too evi¬ 
dent that this person had approached him in the hope of 
obtaining a bribe ; he had intruded himself time and again, and 
always with moving stories of his poverty. Mr. Hilworthy 
said that his heart had bled for him—insomuch that he had 
several times been on the point of trying to get some one to 
do something for him. Some instinct had told liim from the 
beginning that this was a bad man, an evil-minded man, but 
his inexperience of such had blinded him to his real motives, 
and hence he had never dreamed that his object was to under¬ 
mine the purity of a United States Senator. He regretted 
that it was plain, now, that such was the man’s object and 
that punishment could not with safety to the Senate’s honor 
be withheld. He grieved to say that one of those mysterious 
dispensations of an inscrutable Providence which are decreed 
from time to time by His wisdom and for His righteous^ 


THE WHOLE THING EXPLAINED. 


53T 


purposes, had given this conspirator’s tale a color of plausibil¬ 
ity,—but this would soon disappear under the clear light of 
truth which would now he thrown upon the case. 

It so happened, (said the Senator,) that about the time in 
question, a poor young friend of mine, living in a distant 
town of my State, wished to establish a bank ; he asked me 
to lend him the necessary money ; I said I had no money 
just then, but would try to borrow it. The day before the 
election a friend said to me that my election expenses must 
be very large—especially my hotel bills,—and offered to lend 
me some money. Remembering my young friend, I said I 
would like a few thousands now, and a few more by and by; 
whereupon he gave me two packages of bills said to contain 
$2,000 and $5,000 respectively ; I did not open the packages 
or count the money; I did not give any note or receipt for 
the same; I made no memorandum of the transaction, and 
neither did my friend. That night this evil man Noble came 
troubling me again. I could not rid myself of him, though 
my time was very precious. He mentioned my young friend 
and said he was very anxious to have $7,000 now to begin 
his banking operations with, and could wait a wdnle for the 
rest. Noble wished to get the money and take it to him. I 
finally gave him the two packages of bills; I took no note or 
receipt from him, and made no memorandum of the matter. I 
no more look for duplicity and deception in another man than I 
would look for it in myself. I never thought of this man again 
until I was overwhelmed the next day by learning what a 
shameful use he had made of the confidence I had reposed in 
him and the money I had entrusted to his care. This is all, 
gentlemen. To the absolute truth of every detail of my 
statement I solemnly swear, and I call Him to witness who 
is the Truth and the loving Father of all whose lips abhor 
false speaking ; I pledge my honor as a Senator, that I have 
spoken but the truth. May God forgive this wicked man— 
as I do. 

Mr. Noble —“ Senator Dilworthy, your bank account shows 
that up to that day, and even on that very day, you conducted 



538 MR. NOBLE GETS EXCITED. 

all your financial business tlirougli tlie medium of checks in¬ 
stead of bills, and so kept careful record of every moneyed 


MR. NOBLK ASKS QUESTIONS. 

transaction. Why did you deal in bank bills on this particu¬ 
lar occasion ? ” 

The Chairmcm —The gentleman will please to remember 
that the Committee is conducting this investigation.” 

Mr, Noble —Then will the Committee ask the question 

The Chairman —The Committee will—when it desires 
to know.” 

Mr. Noble —“ Which wdll not be during this century per¬ 
haps.” 

The Chairman —“ Another remark like that, sir, will pro¬ 
cure you the attentions of the Sergeant-at-arms.” 

Mr. Noble —‘‘ D-n the Sergeant-at-arms, and the Com¬ 

mittee too! ” 

Several Committeemen —“ Mr. Chairman, this is contempt!” 

Mr. Noble —“ Contempt of whom ? ” 

“ Of the Committee ! Of the Senate of the United States!” 









CUSTOMS PROVED BY THE SENATOR’S STATEMENT. 539 

Mr. Noble —Then I am become tlie acknowledged repre¬ 
sentative of a nation. You know as w^ell as I do that the 
whole nation hold as much as three-tifths of the United States 
Senate in entire contempt.—Three-fifths of you are Dil- 
worthys.” 

The Sergeant-at-arms very soon put a quietus upon the 
observations of the representative of the nation, and con¬ 
vinced him that he vras not in the over-free atmosphere of his 
Happy-Lan d- of-Canaan. 

The statement of Senator Dilworthy naturally carried con¬ 
viction to the minds of the committee.—It was close, logical, 
unanswerable; it bore many internal evidences of its truth.— 
For instance, it is customary in all countries for business men 
to loan large sums of money in bank bills instead of checks. 
It is customary for the lender to make no memorandum of 
the transaction. It is customary for the borrower to receive 
the money without making a memorandum of it, or giving a 
note or a receipt for it—because the borrower is not likely to 
die or forget about it. It is customary to lend nearly any¬ 
body money to start a bank with, especially if you have not 
the money to lend him and have to borrow it for the purpose. 
It is customary to carry large sums of money in bank bills 
about your person or in your trunk. It is customary to hand 
a large sum in bank bills to a man you have ]ust been intro¬ 
duced to (if he asks you to do it,) to be conveyed to a distant 
town and delivered to another party. It is not customary to 
make a memorandum of this transaction; it is not customary 
for the conveyor to give a note or a receipt for the money ; 
it is not customary to require that he shall get a note or a re¬ 
ceipt from the man he is to convey it to in tlie distant town. 
It would be at least singular in you to say to the proposed 
conveyor, “You might be robbed ; I will deposit the money 
in bank and send a check for it to my friend through the 
mail.” 

Yery well. It being plain that Senator Dilworthy’s state¬ 
ment was rigidly true, and this fact being strengthened by 
his adding to it the support of “his honor as a Senator,” the 


540 ACTION ON THE REPORT IN THE SENATE. 

Oommittee rendered a verdict of Not proven that a bribe had 
been offered and accepted.’’ This in a manner exonerated 
Noble and let him escape. 

The Committee made its report to the Senate, and that 
body proceeded to consider its acceptance. One Senator— 
indeed, several Senators—objected that the Committee had 
failed of its duty; they had proved this man Noble guilty of 
nothing, they had meted out no punishment to him; if the 
report were accepted, he would go forth free and scathless, 
glorying in his crime, and it would be a tacit admission that 
any blackguard could insult the Senate of the United States 
and conspire against the sacred reputation of its members 
with impunity; the Senate owed it to the upholding of its 
ancient dignity to make an example of this man Noble—he 
should be crushed. 

An elderly Senator got up and took another view of the 
ease. This was a Senator of the worn-out and obsolete pat¬ 
tern ; a man still lingering among the cobwebs of the past, 
and behind the spirit of the age. He said that there seemed 
to be a curious misunderstanding of the case. Gentlemen 
seemed exceedingly anxious to preserve and maintain the honor 
and dignity of the Senate. 

Was this to be done by trying an obscure adventurer for 
attempting to trap a Senator into bribing him ? Or would 
not the truer way be to find out whether the Senator was 
capable of being entrapped into so shameless an act, and then 
try him ? Why, of course. Wow the whole idea of the Sen¬ 
ate seemed to be to shield the Senator and turn inquiry away 
from him. The true way to uphold the honor of the Senate 
was to have none but honorable men in its body. If this 
Senator had yielded to temptation and had offered a bribe, 
he was a soiled man and ought to be instantly expelled; there¬ 
fore he wanted the Senator tried, and not in the usual nam¬ 
by-pamby way, but in good earnest. He wanted to know 
the truth of this matter. For himself, he believed that the 
guilt of Senator Dilworthy was established beyond the 
shadow of a doubt; and he considered that in trifling with 


VARIOUS OPINIONS. 


541 


his case and shirking it the Senate was doing a shameful and 
cowardly thing — a thing which suggested that in its willing- 



THE WORN OUT STYLE OF SENATOR. 


ness to sit longer in the company of such a man, it was 
acknowledging that it was itself of a kind with him and was 
therefore not dishonored by his presence. He desired that 
a rigid examination be made into Senator Dilworthy’s case, 
and that it be continued clear into the approaching extra 
session if need be. There was no dodging this thing with 
the lame excuse of want of time. 

In reply, an honorable Senator said that he thought it 
would be as well to drop the matter and accept the Committee’s 
report. He said with some jocularity that the more one 
agitated this thing, the worse it was for the agitator. He 
was not able to deny that he believed Senator Dilworthy to 
be guilty—but what then ? Was it such an extraordinary 
case ? For his part, even allowing the Senator to be guilty, 
he did not think his continued presence during the few re¬ 
maining days of the Session would contaminate the Senate to 


542 SENATOR DILWORTHY FAITHFUL TO THE LAST. 

a dreadful degree. [This humorous sally was received with 
smiling admiration—notwithstanding it was not wholly new, 
having originated with the Massachusetts General in the 
House a day or two before, upon the occasion of the proposed 
expulsion of a member for selling his vote for money.] 

The Senate recognized the fact that it could not be contam¬ 
inated by sitting a few days longer with Senator Dilworthy, 
and so it accepted the committee’s report and dropped the 
unimportant matter. 

Mr. Dilworthy occupied his seat to the last hour of the 
session. He said that his people had reposed a trust in him, 
and it was not for him to desert them. He would remain at 
his post till he perished, if need be. 

His voice was lifted up and his vote cast for the last time, 
in support of an ingenious measure contrived by the General 
from Massachusetts whereby the President’s salary was 
proposed to be doubled and every Congressman paid several 
thousand dollars extra for work previously done, under an 
accepted contract, and already paid for once and receipted 
for. 

Senator Dilworthy was offered a grand ovation by his 
friends at home, who said that their affection for him and 
their confidence in him were in no wise impaired by the per¬ 
secutions that had pursued him, and that he was still good 
enough for them.* 


*The $7,000 left by Mr. Noble with his state legislature was placed in safe 
keeping to await the claim of the legitimate owner. Senator Dilw'.rthy made 
one little effort through his prot^gd the embryo banker to recover it, but there 
being no notes of hand or other memoranda to support the claim, it failed. 
The moral of which is, that when one loans money to start a bank with, one 
ought to take the party’s written acknowledgment of the fact. 



CHAPTER LX. 


“0\r holan whath ythew prowte 
kynthoma ogas marowe”— 

E (>Il some Gays Laura had been a free woman once more. 
During this time, she had experienced—first, two or 
three days of triumph, excitement, congratulations, a sort of 
sunburst of gladness, after a long night of gloom and anxiety; 
then two or three days of calming down, by degrees—a reced¬ 
ing of tides, a quieting of the storm-wash to a murmurous 
surf-beat, a diminishing of devastating winds to a refrain that 
bore the spirit of a truce—days given to solitude, rest, self- 
communion, and the reasoning of herself into a realization of 
the fact that she was actually done with bolts and bars, prison 
horrors and impending death; then came a day whose hours 
filed slowly by her, each laden with some remnant, some 
remaining fragment of the dreadful time so lately ended—a 
day which, closing at last, left the past a fading shore behind 
her and turned her eyes toward the broad sea of the future. 
So speedily do we put the dead away and come back to our 
place in the ranks to march in the pilgrimage of life again ! 

And now the sun rose once more and ushered in the first 
day of what Laura comprehended and accepted as a new life. 

643 


544 


A LIFE KEVIEW. 


The past had sunk below the horizon, and existed no more 
for her; she was done with it for all time. She was gazing 
out over the trackless expanses of the future, now, with 
troubled eyes. Life must be begun again—at eight and 
twenty years of age. And where to begin ? Th6 page was 
blank, and waiting for its first record ; so this was indeed a 
momentous day. 

Her thoughts drifted back, stage by stage, over her career. 
As far as the long highway receded over the plain of her life, 
it was lined with the gilded and pillared splendors of her 
ambition all crumbled to ruin and ivy-grown; every mile¬ 
stone marked a disaster; there was no green spot remaining 
anywhere in memory of a hope that had found its fruition ; 
the unresponsive earth had uttered no voice of fiowers in tes¬ 
timony that one who was blest had gone that road. 

Her life had been a failure. That was plain, she said. Ho 
more of that. She would now look the future in the face; 
she would mark her course upon the chart of life, and follow 
it; follow it without swerving, through rocks and shoals, 
through storm and calm, to a haven of rest and peace—or, 
shipwreck. Let the end be what it might, she would mark 
her course now—to-day—and follow it. 

On her table lay six or seven notes. They were from lov¬ 
ers; from some of the prominent names in the land; men 
whose devotion had survived even the grisly revealments of 
her character which the courts had uncurtained; men who 
knew her now, just as she was, and yet pleaded as for their 
lives for the dear privilege of calling the murderess wife. 

As she read these passionate, these worshiping, these sup¬ 
plicating missives, the woman in her nature confessed itself; 
a strong yearning came upon her to lay her head upon a 
loyal breast and find rest from the conflict of life, solace for 
her griefs, the healing of love for her bruised heart. 

With her forehead resting upon her hand, she sat thinking, 
thinking, while the unheeded moments winged their flight. 
It was one of those mornings in early spring when nature 
seems just stirring to a half consciousness out of a long. 


THINKING, THINKING, THINKING. 


545 


exfi^iflsting lethargy ; when the first faint balmy airs go wan> 
dering about, whispering the secret of the coming change; 
when the abused brown grass, newly relieved of snow, seems 
considering whether it can be worth the trouble and worry 
of contriving its green raiment again only to fight the inevi¬ 
table fight with the implacable winter and be vancpiished and 
buried once more; when the sun shines out and a few birds 
venture forth and lift up a forgotten song; when a strange 
stillness and suspense pervades the waiting air. It is a time 
when one’s spirit is subdued and sad, one knows not why ; 
when the past seems a storm-swept desolation, life a vanity 
and a burden, and the future but a way to death. It is a 
time when one is filled with vague longings; when one dreams 
of flight to peaceful islands in the remote solitudes of the sea, 
or folds his hands and says. What is the use of struggling, 
and toiling and worrying any more ? let us give it all up. 



THE PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE. 


It was into such a mood as this that Laura had drifted 
from the musings which the letters of her lovers had called 
35- 





































































546 LAUEA DECIDES, AND CUTS OEE ALL RETREAT. 


up. Now she lifted her head and noted with surprise how 
the day had wasted. She thrust the letters aside, rose up 
and went and stood at the window. But she was soon think¬ 
ing again, and was only gazing into vacancy. 

By and by she turned ; her countenance had cleared; the 
dreamy look was gone out of her face, all indecision had van¬ 
ished ; the poise of her head and the firm set of her lips told 
that her resolution was formed. She moved toward the table 
with all the old dignity in her carriage, and all the old pride 
in her mien. She took up each letter in its turn, touched a 
match to it and watched it slowly consume to ashes. Then 
she said: 

‘‘ I have landed upon a foreign shore, and burned my ships 
behind me. These letters were the last thing that held me 
in sympathy with any remnant or belonging of the old life. 



THE LAST LINK BROKEN. 


Henceforth that life and all that appertains to it are as dead 
to me and as far removed from me as if I were become a den¬ 
izen of another world.” 


















HER PATH MARKED OUT. 


547 


She said that love was not for her—the time that it could 
have satisfied her heart was gone by and could not return ; 
the opportunity was lost, nothing could restore it. She said 
there could be no love without respect, and she would only 
despise a man who could content himself with a thing like 
her. Love, she said, was a woman’s first necessity: love being 
forfeited, there was but one thing left that could give a pass¬ 
ing zest to a wasted life, and that was fame, admiration, the 
applause of the multitude. 

And so her resolution was taken. She would turn to that 
final resort of the disappointed of lier sex, the lecture platform. 
She would array herself in fine attire, she would adorn her¬ 
self with jewels, and stand in her isolated magnificence 
before massed audiences and enchant them with her eloquence 
and amaze them with her unapproachable beauty. She 
would move from city to city like a queen of romance, leav¬ 
ing marveling multitudes behind her and impatient multi¬ 
tudes awaiting her coming. Her life, during one hour of 
each day, upon the platform, would be a rapturous intoxica¬ 
tion—and when the curtain fell, and the lights were out, and 
the people gone, to nestle in their homes and forget her, she 
would find in sleep oblivion of her homelessness, if she 
could, if not she would brave out the night in solitude and 
wait for the next day’s hour of ecstasy. 

So, to take up life and begin again was no great evil. She 
snw her way. She would be brave and strong; she would 
make the best of what was left for her among the possibili¬ 
ties. 

\ She sent for the lecture agent, and matters were soon 
arranged. 

Straightway all the papers were filled with her name, and 
all the dead walls flamed with it. The papers called down 
'll precations upon her head; they reviled her without stint; 
:hey wondered if all sense of decency was dead in this shame¬ 
less murderess, this brazen lobbyist, this heartless seducer of 
the affections of weak and misguided men ; they implored 
the people, for the sake of their pure wives, their sinless 


548 


A TRIAL FOR FAME. 


daughters, for the sake of decency, for the sake of public 
morals, to give this wretched creature such a rebuke as should 
be an all-sufficient evidence to her and to such as her, that 
there was a limit where the flaunting of their foul acts and opin¬ 
ions before the world must stop; certain of them, with a 
higher art, and to her a finer cruelty, a sharper torture, 
uttered no abuse, but always spoke of her in terms of mock¬ 
ing eulogy and ironical admiration. Everybody talked 
about the new wonder, canvassed the theme of her proposed 
discourse, and marveled how she would handle it. 

Laura’s few friends wrote to her or came and talked with her, 
and pleaded vrith her to retire wffiile it was yet time, and not 
attempt to face the gathering storm. But it was fruitless. 
She was stung to the quick by the comments of the news¬ 
papers ; her spirit was roused, her ambition was towering, now. 
She was more determined than ever. She 'would show these 
people what a hunted and persecuted woman could do. 

The eventful night came. Laura arrived before the great 
lecture hall in a close carriage within five minutes of the 
time set for the lecture to begin. When she stepped out of 
the vehicle her heart beat fast and her eyes fiashed with 
exultation: the whole street was packed with people, and she 
could hardly force her way to the hall! She reached the 
ante-room, threw off her wraps and placed herself before the 
dressing-glass. She turned herself this way and that—every¬ 
thing was satisfactory, her attire was perfect. She smoothed 
her hair, re-arranged a jewel here and there, and all the while 
her heart sang within her, and her face was radiant. She had 
not been so happy for ages and ages, it seemed to her. Oh, 
no, she had never been so overwhelmingly grateful and 
happy in her whole life before. The lecture agent appeared 
at the door. She waved him away and said: 

‘‘ Do not disturb me. I want no introduction. And do 
not fear for me ; the moment the hands point to eight I will 
step upon the platform.” 

He disappeared. Sb e held her watch before her. She was 
BO impatient that the second-hand seemed wdiole tedious 


A BITTER FAILURE. 


549 


iniimtes dragging its way around the circle. At last the su¬ 
preme moment came, and with head erect and the bearing of an 
empress she swept through the door and stood upon the stage. 
Her eyes fell upon— 

Only a vast, brilliant emptiness—there were not forty 
people in the house ! There were only a handful of coarse 
men and ten or twelve still coarser women, lolling upon the 
benches and scattered about singly and in couples. 

Her pulses stood still, her limbs quaked, the gladness went 
out of her face. There w^as a moment of silence, and then a 
brutal laugh and an explosion of cat-calls and hisses saluted 
her from the audience. The clamor grew stronger and 
louder, and insulting speeches were shouted at her. A half- 
intoxicated man rose up and threw something, which missed 
her but bespattered a chair at her side, and this evoked an 



THE TERRIBLE ORDEAL. 


outburst of laughter and boisterous admiration. She was 
bewildered, her strength was forsaking her. She reeled away 
from the platform, reached the ante-room, and dropped help- 















550 


UTTERLY OVERWHELMED. 


less upon a sofa. The lecture agent ran in, with a hurried 
question upon his lips; but she put forth her hands, and with 
the tears raining from her eyes, said : 

Oh, do not speak ! Take me away—please take me away, 
out of this dreadful place! Oh, this is like all my life— 
failure, disappointment, misery—always misery, always fail¬ 
ure. What have 1 done, to be so pursued ! Take me away, 
I beg of you, I implore you ! ” 

Upon the pavement she was hustled by the mob, tlie surg¬ 
ing masses roared her name and accompanied it with every 
species of insulting epithet; they thronged after the carriage, 
hooting, jeering, cursing, and even assailing the vehicle with 
missiles. A stone crushed througli a blind, wounding Laura’s 
forehead, and so stunning her that she hardly knew what 
further transpired during her flight. 

It was long before her faculties were wholly restored, and 
then she found herself lying on the floor by a sofa in her 
own sitting-room, and alone. So she supposed she must have 
sat down upon the sofa and afterward fallen. She raised her¬ 
self up, with difficulty, for the air was chilly and her limbs 
were stiff. She turned up the gas and sought the glass. She 
hardly knew herself, so worn and old she looked, and so 
marred with blood were her features. The night was far 
spent, and a dead stillness reigned. She sat down by her 
table, leaned her elbows upon it and put her face in her 
hands. 

Her thoughts wandered back over her old life again and 
her tears flowed unrestrained.—Her pride was humbled, her 
spirit was broken. Her memory found but one resting place ; 
it lingered about her young girlhood with a caressing regret; 
it dwelt upon it as the one brief interval in her life that 
bore no curse. She saw herself again in the budding grace 
of her twelve years, decked in her dainty pride of ribbons, 
consorting with the bees and the butterflies, believing in 
fairies, holding confidential converse with the flowers, busy¬ 
ing herself all day long with airy trifles that were as weighty 


T ^ 



I 



RETflO.«PEOTION 


» 


n 




« 



1 











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































EEPENTANCE AND DEATH. 


551 


to her as the affairs that tax the brains of diplomats and 
emperors. She was without sin, then, and unacquainted with 
grief; the world was full of sunshine and her heart was full 
of music. From that—to this ! 

“ If 1 could only die! ” she said. “ If I could only go 
back, and be as I was then, for one hour—and hold my 
father’s hand in mine again, and see all the household about 
me, as in that old innocent time—and then die! My God, 
I am humbled, my pride is all gone, my stubborn heart 
repents—have pity ! ” 

When the spring morning dawned, the form still sat there, 
the elbows resting upon the table and the face upon the 
hands. All day long the figure sat there, the sunshine 
enriching its costly raiment and flashing from its jewels; 
twilight came, and presently the stars, but still the figure 
rcimained; the moon found it there still, and framed the 
picture with the shadow of the window sash, and flooded it 
with mellow light; by and by the darkness swallowed it up, 
and later the gray dawn revealed it again ; the new day grew 
toward its prime, and still the forlorn presence was undis¬ 
turbed. 

But now the keepers of the house had become uneasy; 
their periodical knockings still finding no response, they 
burst open the door. 

The jury of inquest found that death had resulted from 
heart disease, and was instant and painless. That was all. 
Merely heart disease. 


CHAPTER LXI. 

Han ager ikke ilde som veed at vende. 

Wanna unyanpi kta. Niye de kta he ? 

/ajt?e Oaye^ vol. i, no. 7. 

C LAY HAWKIKS, years gone by, had yielded, after 
many a struggle, to the migratory and speculative in¬ 
stinct of our age and our people, and had wandered further 
and further westward upon trading ventures. Settling final¬ 
ly in Melbourne, Australia, he ceased to roam, became a 
steady-going substantial merchant, and prospered greatly. 
His life lay beyond the theatre of this tale. 

His remittances had supported the Hawkins family, entire¬ 
ly, from the time of his father’s death until latterly when 
Laura by her efforts in Washington had been able to assist in 
this work. Clay was away on a long absence in some of the east¬ 
ward islands when Laura’s troubles began, trying (and almost 
in vain,) to arrange certain interests which had become dis¬ 
ordered through a dishonest agent, and consequently he knew 
nothing of the murder till he returned and read his letters 
and papers. His natural impulse was to hurry to the States 
and save his sister if possible, for he loved her with a deep 
and abiding affection.—His business was so crippled now, and 
so deranged, that to leave it would be ruin ; therefore he sold 
out at a sacrifice that left him considerably reduced in worldly 
Dosseesions, and began his vovage to San Francisco. Arrived 

onS 


APPEARANCE OF WASHINGTON HAWKINS. 


553 


there, he perceived by the newspapers that the trial was near 
its close. At Salt Lake later telegrams told him of the ac¬ 
quittal, and his gratitude was boundless—so boundless, in¬ 
deed, that sleep was driven from his eyes by the pleasurable 
excitement almost as effectually as preceding weeks of anxiety 
had done it. He shaped his course straight for Hawkeye, 
now, and his meeting with his mother and the rest of the 
household was joyful—albeit he had been away so long that 
he seemed almost a stranger in his own home. 

But the greetings and congratulations were hardly finished 
when all the journals in the land clamored the news of Laura’s 
miserable death. Mrs. Hawkins was prostrated by this last 
blow, and it was well that Clay was at her side to stay her 
with comforting words and take upon himself the ordering of 
the household with its burden of labors and cares. 

Washington Hawkins had scarcely more than entered upon 
that decade which carries one to the full blossom of manhood 
which we term the beginning of middle ago, and yet a brief 
sojourn at the capital of the nation had made him old. His 
hair was already turning gray when the late session of Con¬ 
gress began its sittings; it grew grayer still, and rapidly, after 
the memorable day that saw Laura proclaimed a murderess; 
it waxed grayer and still grayer during the lagging suspense 
that succeeded it and after the crash wdiich ruined his last 
tiope—the failure of his bill in the Senate and the destruction 
of its champion, Dilworthy. A few days later, when he stood 
uncovered while the last prayer was pronounced over Laura’s 
grave, his hair was whiter and his face hardly less old than 
the venerable minister’s whose words were sounding in his 
ears. 

A week after this, he was sitting in a double-bedded room 
in a cheap boarding house in Washington, with Col. Sellers. 
The two had been living together lately, and this mutual 
cavern of theirs the Colonel sometimes referred to as their 
“ premises” and sometimes as their “apartments”—more 
particularly when conversing with persons outside. A can- 


554 


READY FOR A START. 


vas-covered modern trunk, marked “ G. W. H.” stood on end 
by the door, strapped and ready for a journey; on it lay a 
small morocco satchel, also marked “ G. W. H.” There was 



GOOD BYE TO WASHINGTON. 


another trunk close by—a worn, and scarred, and ancient hair 
relic, with B. S.” wrought in brass nails on its top; on it 
lay a pair of saddle-bags that probably knew more about the 
last century than they could tell. Washington got up and 
walked the floor a while in a restless sort of way, and Anally 
was about to sit down on the hair trunk. 

Stop, don’t sit down on that! ” exclaimed the Colonel. 
“ There, now—that’s all right—the chair’s better. I couldn’t 
get another trunk like that—not another like it in America, I 
reckon.” 

‘‘I am afraid not,” said Washington, with a faint attempt 
at a smile. 

“No indeed ; the man is dead that made that trunk and 
that saddle-bags.” 














































DIFFERENCE BETWEEN STEALING AND TAKING. 555 

“Are his great-grand-children still living?” said Washing¬ 
ton, with levity only in the words, not in the tone. 

“Well, I don’t know—I hadn’t thought of that—but any¬ 
way they can’t make trunks and saddle-bags like that, if they 
are—no man can,” said the Colonel with honest simplicity. 
“ Wife didn’t like to see me going oft with that trunk—she 
said it was nearly certain to be stolen.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Why ? Why, aren’t trunks always being stolen ? ” 

“Well, yes—some kinds of trunks are.” 

“ Very well, then ; this is some kind of a trunk—and an 
almighty rare kind, too.” 

“ Yes, I believe it is.” 

“ Well, then, why shouldn’t a man want to steal it if he got 
a chance ? ” 

“ Indeed I don’t know.—Why should he ? ” 

“ Washington, I never heard anybody talk like you. Sup¬ 
pose you were a thief, and that trunk was lying around and 
nobody watching—wouldn’t you steal it ? Come, now, 
answer fair—wouldn’t you steal it ? ” 

“Well, now, since you corner me, I don’t know but I 
would take it,—but I wouldn’t consider it stealing.” 

“ You wouldn’t! Well, that beats me. Now what would 
you call stealing ? ” 

“ Why, taking property is stealing.” 

“ Property ! Now what a way to talk that is. What do 
you suppose that trunk is worth ? ” 

“ Is it in good repair ? ” 

“ Perfect. Hair rubbed off a little, but the main structure 
is perfectly sound.” 

“Does it leak anywhere?” 

“ Leak ? Do you want to carry water in it ? What do 
you mean by does it leak ? ” 

“ Why—a—do the clothes fall out of it when it is—when 
it is stationary ? ” 

“ Confound it, Washington, you are trying to make fun of 


556 


THE TENNESSEE LANDS AGAIN. 


me. 1 don’t know what has got into you to-day; you act 
mighty curious. What is the matter with you ? ” 

Well, I’ll tell you, old friend. I am almost happy. I 
am, indeed. It wasn’t Clay’s telegram that hurried me up so 
and got me ready to start with you. It was a letter from 
Louise.” 

Good ! What is it ? What does she say ? ” 

‘‘ She says come home—her father has consented, at last.” 

‘‘ My boy, I want to congratulate you; I want to shake 
you by the hand ! It’s a long turn that has no lane at the end 
of it, as the proverb says, or somehow that way. You’ll be 
happy yet, and Beriah Sellers will be there to see, thank 
God! ” 

“ I believe it. General BosAvell is pretty nearly a poor 
man, now. The railroad that was going to build up Hawk- 
eye made short work of him, along with the rest. He is’nt 
so opposed to a son-in-law without a fortune, now.” 

‘‘ Without a fortune, indeed! Why that Tenuessee 
Land—” 

‘‘Never mind the Tennessee Land, Colonel. I am done 
with that, forever and forever—” 

“Why no ! You can’t mean to say—” 

“ My father, away back yonder, years ago, bought it for a 
blessing for his children, and—” 

“ Indeed he did! Si Hawkins said to me—” 

“ It proved a curse to him as long as he lived, and never a 
curse like it was inflicted upon any man’s heirs—” 

“ I’m bound to say there’s more or less truth—” 

“ It began to curse me when I was a baby, and it has cursed 
every hour of my life to this day—” 

“ Lord, lord, but it’s so ! Time and again my wife—” 

“ I depended on it all through my boyhood and never tried 
to do an honest stroke of work for my living—” 

“ Right again—but then you—” 

“ I have chased it years and years as children chase butter¬ 
flies. We might all have been prosperous, now ; we might 


THE COLONEL’S TRUE CALLING. 


557 


all have been happy, all these heart-breaking years, if we had 
accepted our poverty at first and gone contentedly to work 
and built up our own weal by our own toil and sweat—” 

It’s so, it’s so ; bless my soul, how often I’ve told Si 
Hawkins—” 

“ Instead of that, we have suffered more than the damned 
themselves suffer! I loved my father, and I honor his 
memory and recognize his good intentions; but I grieve for 
his mistaken ideas of conferring happiness upon his children. 
I am going to begin my life over again, and begin it and end 
it with good solid work ! I’ll leave my children no Tennes¬ 
see Land !” 

“ Spoken like a man, sir, spoken like a man ! Your hand, 
again my boy ! And always remember that when a word of 
advice from Beriah Sellers can help, it is at your service. I’m 
going to begin again, too 1” 

“Indeed’” 

“Yes, sir. I’ve seen enough to show me where my mis¬ 
take was. The law is what I was born for. I shall begin 
the study of the law. Heavens and earth, but that Braham’s 
a wonderful man—a wonderful man sir 1 Such a head 1 And 
such a way with him 1 But I could see that he was jealous 
of me. The little licks I got in in the course of my argument 
before the jury—” 

“ Your argument! Why, you were a witness.” 

“ Oh, yes, to the popular eye, to the popular eye—but 1 
knew when I was dropping information and when I was let¬ 
ting drive at the court with an insidious argument. But the 
court knew it, bless you, and weakened every time 1 And 
Braham knew it. I just reminded him of it in a quiet way, 
and its final result, and he said in a whisper, ‘ You did it. 
Colonel, you did it, sir—but keep it mum for my sake; and I’ll 
tell you what you do,’ says he, ‘ you go into the law. Col. 
Sellers—go into the law, sir; that’s your native element!’ And 
into the law the subscriber is going. There’s worlds of money 
in it!—whole worlds of money 1 Practice first in Hawkeye, then 


558 


TO PAY OR NOT TO PAY. 


in Jefferson, then in St. Louis, then in 'New York! In the 
metropolis of the western world I Climb, and climb, and 
climb—and wind up on the /(S'wpreme bench. Beriah Sellers, 
Chief Justice of the /(Supreme Court of the United States, 
sir ! A made man for all time and eternity ! That’s the way 
I block it out, sir—and it’s as clear as day—clear as the rosy 
morn 1” 

Washington had heard little of this. The first reference to 
Laura’s trial had brought the old dejection to his face again, 
and he stood gazing out of the window at nothing, lost in 
reverie. 

There was a knock—the postman handed in a letter. It 
was from Obedstown, East Tennessee, and was for Washing¬ 
ton. He opened it. There was a note saying that enclosed 
he would please find a bill for the current year’s taxes on the 
75,000 acres of Tennessee Land belonging to the estate of 
Silas Hawkins, deceased, and added that the money must be 
paid within sixty days or the land would be sold at public 
auction for the taxes, as provided by law. The bill was for 
$180—something more than twice the market value of the 
land, perhaps. 

Washington hesitated. Doubts flitted through his mind. 
The old instinct came upon him to cling to the land just a 
little longer and give it one more chance. Lie w^alked the 
floor feverishly, his mind tortured by indecision. Presently 
he stopped, took out his pocket book and counted his money. 
Two hundred and thirty dollars—it was all he had in the 
v/orld. 

“ One hundred and eighty.from two hundred and 

thirty,” he said to himself. Fifty left.It is enough 

to get me home.Shall I do it, or shall I not ?.I 

wish I had somebody to decide for me.” 

The pocket book lay open in his hand, with Louise’s small 
letter in view. His eye fell upon that, and it decided him. 

“ It shall go for taxes,” he said, “ and never tempt me or 
mine any more 1” 






THE CURSE ENDED. 


559 


^ He opened the window and stood there tearing the tax 
bill to bits and watching the breeze waft them away, till all 
were gone. 

“ The spell is broken, the life-long curse is ended !” he said. 
“ Let us go.” 

The baggage wagon had arrived ; five minutes later the 



THE CURSE ENDED. 


two friends were mounted u^on their luggage in it, and 
rattling off toward the station, the Colonel endeavoring to 
sing “ Homeward Bound,” a song whose words he knew, 
but whose tune, as be rendered it, was a trial to auditors. 

















CHAPTER LXIL 

Gedi kanadiben tsannawa. 


—La xalog, la xamaih mi-x-ul nu qiza u quial gib, u qu’ial agab? 

Rabinal-Achi. 

P hilip sterling’s circumstances were becoming 
straightened. The prospect was gloomy. His long 
siege of unproductive labor was beginning to tell upon his 
spirits; but what told still more upon them was the undenia¬ 
ble fact that the promise of ultimate success diminished every¬ 
day, now. That is to say, the tunnel had reached a point in 
the hill which was considerably beyond where the coal vein 
should pass (according to all his calculations) if there were a 
coal vein there ; and so, every foot that the tunnel now pro¬ 
gressed seemed to carry it further away from the object of 
the search. 

Sometimes he ventured to hope that he had made a mis¬ 
take in estimating the direction which the vein should natu¬ 
rally take after crossing the valley and entering the hill. 
Upon such occasions he would go into the nearest mine on 
the vein he was hunting for, and once more get the bearings 
of the deposit and mark out its probable course ; but the re¬ 
sult was the same every time; his tunnel had manifestly 
pierced beyond the natural point of junction; and then his 
spirits fell a little lower. His men had already lost faith, and 
he often overheard them saying it was perfectly plain that 
there was no coal in the hill. 

Foremen and laborers from neighboring mines, and no end 
560 


THE INFALLIBLE SIGN. 


561 


of experienced loafers from the village, visited the tunnel from 
time to time, and their verdicts were always the same and 
always disheartening—‘‘No coal in that hill.” Now and then 
Philip would sit down and think it all over and wonder what 
the mystery meant; then he would go into the tunnel and ask 
the men if there were no signs yet ? None—always “ none.” 
He would bring out a piece of rock and examine it, and say 
to himself, “ It is limestone—it has crinoids and corals in it 
—the rock is right.” Then he would throw it down with a 
sigh, and say, “ But that is nothing; where coal is, limestone 
with these fossils in it is pretty certain to lie against its foot 
casing; but it does not necessarily follow that where this pe¬ 
culiar rock is, coal must lie above it or beyond it; this sign 
is not sufficient.” 

The thought usually followed:—“ There is one infallible 
sign—if I could only strike that! ” 

Three or four times in as many weeks he said to himself, 
“Am I a visionary ? I must be a visionary ; everybody is in 
these days; everybody chases butterflies: everybody seeks 
sudden fortune and will not lay one up by slow toil. This 
is not right, I wdll discharge the men and go at some honest 
work. There is no coal here. What a fool I have been; I 
will give it up.” 

But he never could do it. A half hour of profound think¬ 
ing always followed; and at the end of it he was sure to get 
up and straighten himself and say : “ There is coal there; I 
will not give it up; and coal or no coal I will drive the tun¬ 
nel clear through the hill; I will not surrender while I am 
alive.” 

He never thought of asking Mr. Montague for more money. 
He said there w^as now but one chance of flnding coal against 
nine hundred and ninety nine that he would not find it, and 
so it would be wTong in him to make the request and foolish 
in Mr. Montague to grant it. 

He had been working three shifts of men. Finally, the 
settling of a weekly account exhausted his means. He could 
86 - 


562 


A GENEROUS OFFER. 



family ; whenever any of ns was in trouble you’ve done 
what you could to help us out; you’ve acted fair and square 
with us every time, and I reckon we are men and know a 
man when we see him. We haven’t got any faith in that 
hill, but we have a respect for a man that’s got the pluck 
that you’ve showed; youv’e fought a good hght, with every¬ 
body agin you and if we had grub to go on, I’m d—d if we 
wouldn’t stand by you till the cows come home! That is 
what the boys say. Now we want to put in one parting blast 
for luck. We want to work three days more ; if we don’t find 
anything, we won’t bring in no bill against you. That is 
what we’ve come to say.” 

Philip was touched. If he had had money enough to buy 
three days’ “grub” he would have accepted the generous offer, 


not afford to run in debt, and therefore he gave the men their 
discharge. Tliey came into his cabin presently, where he sat 
with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, the 
picture of discouragement and their spokesman said: 

“ Mr. Sterling, when Tim was down a week with his fall 
you kept him on half wages and it was a mighty help to his 


A PARTING BLAST OFFERED. 






















THE HERMIT’S LIFE REALIZED. 


563 


but as it was, he could not consent to be less magnanimous 
than the men, and so he declined in a manly speech, shook 
hands all around and resumed his solitary communings. 
The men went back to the tunnel and “ put in a parting 
blast for luck ” anyhow. They did a full day’s work and 
then took their leave. They called at his cabin and gave 
him good-bye, but were not able to tell him their day’s eflbrt 
had given things a more promising look. 

The next day Philip sold all the tools but two or three sets; 
he also sold one of the now deserted cabins as old lumber, 
together with its domestic wares, and made up his mind that 
he would buy provisions with the trifle of money thus gained 
and continue his work alone. About the middle of the after¬ 
noon he put on his roughest clothes and went to the tunnel. 
He lit a candle and groped his way in. Presently he heard 
the sound of a pick or a drill, and wondered what it meant. 
A spark of light now appeared in the far end of the tunnel, 
and when he arrived there he found the man Tim at work. 
Tim said: 

“ Pm to have a job in the Golden Brier mine by and by— 
in a week or ten days—and I’m going to work here till then. 
A man might as well be at some thing, and besides I consider 
that I owe you what you paid me when I was laid up.” 

Philip said. Oh, no, he didn’t owe anything; but Tim 
persisted, and then Philip said he had a little provision, now, 
and would share. So for several days Philip held the drill and 
Tim did the striking. At flrst Pliilip was impatient to see 
the result of every blast, and was always back and peering 
among the smoke the moment after the explosion. But 
there w^as never any encouraging result; and therefore he 
Anally lost almost all interest, and hardly troubled himself 
to inspect results at all. He simply labored on, stubbornly 
and with little hope. 

Tim staid with him till the last moment, and then took up 
his job at the Golden Brier, apparently as depressed by the 
continued barrenness of their mutual labors as Philip was 


564 


DISCOURAGED. 


himself. After that, Philip fought his battle alone, day after 
day, and slow work it was ; he could scarcely see that he made 
any progress. 

Late one afternoon he tinished drilling a hole which he had 
been at work at for more tlian two hours; he sw^abbed it out, 
and poured in the powder and inserted the fuse; then filled 
up the rest of the hole with dirt and small fragments of stone; 
tamped it down firmly, touched his candle to the fuse, and 



THE LAST BLAST. 


ran. By and by the dull report came, and he was about to 
walk back mechanically and see what was accomplished; but 
he halted; presently turned on his heel and thought, rather 
than said: 

“hTo, this is useless, this is absurd. If I found anything 
it would only be one of those little aggravating seams of 
coal which doesn’t mean anything, and—.” 

By this time he was walking out of the tunnel. His 
thought ran on: 








A JOYFUL SURPRISE. 


565 


“ I am conquered.I am out of provisions, out of 

money.I have got to give it up.All this hard work 

lost! But I am not conquered! I will go and work for 
money, and come back and have another fight with fate. Ah 
me, it may be years, it may be years.” 

Arrived at the mouth of the tunnel, he threw his coat upon 
the ground, sat down on a stone, and his eye sought the west¬ 
ering sun and dwelt upon the charming landscape which 
-stretched its woody ridges, wave upon wave, to the golden 
horizon. 

Something was taking place at his feet which did not attract 
his attention. 

His reverie continued, and its burden grew more and more 
gloomy. Presently he rose up and cast a look far away 
toward the valley, and his thoughts took a new direction : 

There it is ! How good it looks! But down there is not 
up here. Well, I will go home and pack up—there is nothing 
else to do.” 

He moved off moodily toward his cabin. He had gone 
some distance before he thought of his coat; then he was 
About to turn back, but he smiled at the thought, and con¬ 
tinued his journey—such a coat as that could be of little use 
in a civilized land. A little further on, he remembered that 
there were some papers of value in one of the pockets of the 
relic, and then with a petulant ejaculation he turned back^ 
picked up the coat and put it on. 

He made a dozen steps, and then stopped very suddenly. 
He stood still a moment, as one who is trying to believe some¬ 
thing and cannot. He put a hand up over his shoulder and 
felt his back, and a great thrill shot through him. He grasped 
the skirt of the coat impulsively and another thrill followed. 
He snatched the coat from his back, glanced at it, threw it 
from him and flew back to the tunnel. He sought the spot 
where the coat had lain—he had to look close, for the light 
was waning— then to make sure, he put his hand to the ground 
And a little stream of water swept against his fingers: 





566 


FOUND AT LAST. 


‘‘Thank God, I’ve struck it at last!” 

He lit a candle and ran into the tunnel; he picked up a 
piece of rubbish cast out by the last blast, and said : 

“ This clayey stuff is what I’ve lone^ed for—I know what is 
behind it.” 

He swung his pick with hearty good will till long after the 



STRUCK IT AT LAST. 


darkness had gathered upon the earth, and when he trudged 
home at length he knew he had a coal vein and that it was 
seven feet thick from wall to wall. 

lie found a yellow envelop lying on his rickety table, and 
recognized that it was of a famil}’ sacred to the transmission 
of telegrams. 

He opened it, read it, crushed it in his hand and threw it 
down. It simply said : 

“ Hath is very ill.” 








CHAPTER LXIIT. 

Alaila pomaikai kaua, ola na iwi iloka o ko kaua mau la elemakule. 

Laieikawai^ 9 . 

UMitnoa - jH^aso joevto 

ew: A : 

I T was evening when Philip took the cars at the Ilium 
station. The news of his success had preceded him, and 
while he waited for the train, he was the center of a group of 
eager questioners, who asked him a hundred things about the 
mine, and magnified his good fortune. There was no mis¬ 
take this time. 

Philip, in luck, had become suddenly a person of consider¬ 
ation, whose speech was freighted with meaning, whose looks 
were all significant. The words of the proprietor of a rich 
coal mine have a golden sound, and his common sayings '.re 
repeated as if they were solid wisdom. $ 

Philip wished to be alone ; his good fortune at this moment 
seemed an empty mockery, one of those sarcasms of fate, 
such as that which spreads a dainty banquet for the man who 
has no appetite. He had longed for success principally for 
Ruth’s sake; and perhaps now, at this very moment of his 
triumph, she was dying. 

Shust what I said, Mister Sderling,” the landlord of the 
Ilium hotel kept repeating. I dold Jake Schmidt he find 
him dere shust so sure as noting.” 

567 




568 


PHILIP LEAVES ILIUM. 


“ You ought to have taken a share, Mr. Dusenheimer,” said 
Philip. 

‘‘Yaas, I know. But d’old woman, she say ‘You sticks to 



THE RICH PROPRIETOR. 


your pisiness. So I sticks to ’em. Und I makes noting. Dat 
Mister Prierly, he don’t never come back here no more, ain’t 
it?” 

“ Why ? ” asked Philip. 

“ Yell, dere is so many peers, und so many oder dhrinks, I 
got ’em all set down, ven he coomes back.” 

It was a long night for Philip, and a restless one. At any 
other time the swing of the cars would have lulled him to 
sleep, and the rattle and clank of wheels and rails, the roar of 
the whirling iron would have only been cheerful reminders 
of swift and safe travel. How they were voices of warning 
and taunting; and instead of going rapidly the train seemed 
to crawl at a snail’s pace. And it not only crawled, but it 
frequently stopped; and when it stopped it stood dead still, 






















A LONG NIGHT. 


569 


and there was an ominous silence. Was anything the matter, 
he wondered. Only a station probably. Perhaps, he thought, 
a telegraphic station. And then he listened eagerly. Would 
the conductor open the door and ask for Philip Sterling, and 
hand him a fatal dispatch ? 

How long they seemed to wait. And then slowly begin¬ 
ning to move, they were off again, shaking, pounding, scream¬ 
ing through the night. He drew his curtain from time to 
time and looked out. There was the lurid sky line of the 
wooded range along the base of which they were crawling. 
There was the Susquehannah, gleaming in the moon-light. 
There was a stretch of level valley with silent farm houses, 
the occupants all at rest, without trouble, without anxiety. 
There was a church, a graveyard, a mill, a village; and now, 
without pause or fear, the train had mounted a trestle-work 
high in air and was creeping along the top of it while a swift 
torrent foamed a hundred feet below. 

What would the morning bring ? Even while he was fly¬ 
ing to her, her gentle spirit might have gone on another 
flight, whither he could not follow her. He was full of fore¬ 
boding. He fell at length into a restless doze. There was a 
noise in his ears as of a rushing torrent when a stream is 
swollen by a freshet in the spring. It was like the breaking 
up of life ; he was struggling in the consciousness of coming 
death : when Ruth stood by his side, clothed in white, with 
a face like that of an angel, radiant, smiling, pointing to the 
sky, and saying, Come.” He awoke with a cry—the train 
was roaring through a bridge, and it shot out into daylight. 

When morning came the train was industriously toiling 
along through the fat lands of Lancaster, with its broad farms 
of corn and wheat, its mean houses of stone, its vast barns 
and granaries, built as if for storing the riches of Heliogab- 
alus. Then came the smiling fields of Chester, with their 
English green, and soon the county of Philadelphia itself, 
and the increasing signs of the approach to a great city. Long 
trains of coal cars, laden and unladen, stood upon sidings * 


570 


THE SICK CHAMBER. 


the tracks of other roads were crossed; the smoke of other 
locomotives was seen on parallel lines; factories multiplied; 
streets appeared ; the noise of a busy city began to fill the air; 
and with a slower and slower clank on the connecting rails 
and interlacing switches the train rolled into the station and 
stood still. 

It was a hot August morning. The broad streets glowed 
in the sun, and the white-shuttered houses stared at the hot 
thoroughfares like closed bakers’-ovens set along the high¬ 
way. Philip was oppressed with the heavy air; the sweltering 
city lay as in a swoon. Taking a street car, he rode away to 
the northern part of the city, the newer portion, formerly the 
district of Spring Garden, for in this the Boltons now lived, 
in a small brick house, befitting their altered fortunes. 

He could scarcely restrain his impatience when he came in 
sight of the house. The window shutters were not ‘‘ bowed 
thank God, for that. Ruth was still living, then. He ran 
up the steps and rang. Mrs. Bolton met him at the door. 

“ Thee is very welcome, Philip.” 

‘‘And Ruth?” 

“ She is very ill, but quieter than she has been, and the 
fever is a little abating. The most dangerous time will be 
when the fever leaves her. The doctor fears she will not 
have strength enough to rally from it. Yes, thee can see 
her.” 

Mrs. Bolton led the way to the little chamber where Ruth 
lay. “ Oh,” said her mother, “ if she were only in her cool 
and spacious room in our old home. She says that seems like 
heaven.” 

Mr. Bolton sat by Ruth’s bedside, and he rose and silently 
pressed Philip’s hand. The room had but one window ; that 
was wide open to admit the air, but the air that came in was 
hot and lifeless. Upon the table stood a vase of flowers. 
Ruth’s eyes were closed; her cheeks were flushed with fever, 
and she moved her head restlessly as if in pain. 

“ Ruth,” said her mother, bending over her, “ Philip is 
here.” 



THE SICK CHAMBER 































































































































































































































« • 




* 


1 ^- 

.1 J 

* *- 


( 






-'i' 




,tr “ * 


0. o;;^’ ff, 


•4 


•./ 


X 








f# 


«• 







» ?. 


• . ’ V- 


»> k- 


« ' 

I 

iW‘ 




k * 




• V. > *■ V • 






r * 


H 


jr >!*- 

V 


% * ♦ 




> - 


^ I 


• I 


,« J 


.‘JT- 






n 

f 4 



•t 


r' • 







li*:: ‘fi 


o 




PHILIP DRAWS RUTH BACK TO LIFE. 571 

Kuth’s eyes unclosed, there was a gleam of recognition in 
them, there was an attempt at a smile upon her face, and she 
tried to raise her thin hand, as Philip touched her forehead 
with his lips; and he heard her murmur, 

‘‘Dear Phil.” 

There was nothing to be done but to watch and wait for 
the cruel fever to burn itself out. Dr. Longstreet told Philip 
that the fever had undoubtedly been contracted in the hos¬ 
pital, but it was not malignant, and would be little dangerous 
if Puth were not so worn down with work, or if she had a 
less delicate constitution. 

“ It is only her indomitable will that has kept her up for 
weeks. And if that should leave her now, there will be no 
hope. You can do more for her now, sir, than I can?” 

“ How ?” asked Philip eagerly. 

“Your presence, more than anything else, will inspire her 
with the desire to live.” 

When the fever turned, Puth was in a very critical con¬ 
dition. For two days her life was like the fluttering of a 
lighted candle in the wind. Philip was constantly by her 
side, and she seemed to be conscious of his presence^ and to 
cling to him, as one borne away by a swift stream clings to a 
stretched-out hand from the shore. If he was absent a mo¬ 
ment her restless eyes sought something they were disap¬ 
pointed not to find. 

Philip so yearned to bring her back to life, he willed it so 
strongly and passionately, that his will appeared to affect hers 
and she seemed slowly to draw life from his. 

After two days of this struggle with the grasping enemy, 
it was evident to Dr. Longstreet that Puth’s will was be¬ 
ginning to issue its orders to her body with some force, and 
tliat strength was slowly coming back. In another day there 
was a decided improvement. As Philip sat holding her weak 
hand and watching the least sign 'of resolution in her face, 
Puth was able to whisper, 

“ I so want to live, for you, Phil!” 

“ You will, darling, you must,” said Philip in a tone of 


572 


THE MINE A SUCCESS. 


faith and courage that carried a thrill of determinatioa—of 
command—along all her nerves. 

Slowly Philip drew her back to life. Slowly she came 
back, as one willing but well nigh helpless. It was new for 
Ruth to feel this dependence on another’s nature, to con¬ 
sciously draw strength of will from the will of another. It 
was a new but a dear joy, to be lifted up and carried back 
into the happy world, which was now all aglow with the 
light of love; to be lifted and carried by the one she loved 
more than her own life. 

“ Sweetheart,” she said to Philip, I would not have 
cared to come back but for thy love.” 

“ Not for thy profession ?” 

Oh, thee may be glad enough of that some day, when thy 
coal bed is dug out and thee and father are in the air again.” 

When Ruth was able to ride she was taken into the coun¬ 
try, for the pure air was necessary to her speedy recovery. 
The family went with her. Philip could not be spared from 
her side, and Mr. Bolton had gone up to Ilium to look into 
that wonderful coal mine and to make arrangements for de¬ 
veloping it, and bringing its wealth to market. Philip had 
insisted on re-conveying the Ilium property to Mr. Bolton, 
retaining only the share originally contemplated for himself, 
and Mr. Bolton, therefore, once more found himself engaged 
in business and a person of some consequence in Third street. 
The mine turned out even better than was at first hoped, and 
would, if judiciously managed, be a fortune to them all. This 
also seemed to be the opinion of Mr. Bigler, who heard of it 
as soon as anybody, and, with the impudence of his class 
called upon Mr. Bolton for a little aid in a patent car-wheel 
he had bought an interest in. That rascal. Small, he said, 
had swindled him out of all he had. 

Mr. Bolton told him he was very sorry, and recommended 
him to sue Small. 

Mr. Small also came with a similar story about Mr. Bigler; 
and Mr. Bolton had the grace to give him like advice. And 
he added, “ If you and Bigler will procure the indictment of 


BACK TO HEALTH. 


573 


each other, you may have the satisfaction of putting each 
other in the penitentiary for the forgery of my acceptances.” 

Bigler and Small did not quarrel however. They both 
attacked Mr. Bolton behind his back as a swindler, and circu¬ 
lated the story that he had made a fortune by failing. 

In the pure air of the highlands, amid the golden glories of 
ripening September, Butli rapidly came back to health. How 
beautiful the world is to an invalid, whose senses are all clari¬ 
fied, who has been so near the world of spirits that she is 
sensitive to the finest influences, and whose frame responds 
with a thrill to the subtlest ministrations of soothing nature. 
Mere life is a luxury, and the color of the grass, of the 
flowers, of the sky, the wind in the trees, the out-lines of the 
horizon, the forms of clouds, all give a pleasure as exquisite 
as the sweetest music to the ear famishing for it. The world 
was all new and fresh to Ruth, as if it had just been created 



ALICE. 


for her, and love filled it, till her heart was overflowing with 
happiness. 



























574 


ALICE. 


It was golden September also at Fallkill. And Alice sat 
by tlie open window in her room at borne, looking out upon 
the meadows where the laborers were cutting the second crop 
of clover. The fragrance of it floated to her nostrils. Perhaps 
she did not mind it. She was thinking. She had just been 
writing to Puth, and on the table before her was a yellow 
piece of paper with a faded four-leaved clover pinned on it— 
only a memory now. In her letter to Puth she had poured 
out her heartiest blessings upon them both, with her dear love 
forever and forever. 

‘‘ Thank God,’’ she said, “ they will never know.” 

They never would know. And the world never knows 
how many women there are like Alice, wPose sweet but 
lonely lives of self-sacriflce, gentle, faithful, loving souls, bless 
it continually. 

“ She is a dear girl,” said Philip, when Puth showed him 
the letter. 

“ Yes, Phil, and we can spare a great deal of love for her, 
©ur owv lives are so full.” 


nan nnnN did 


APPENDIX. 


Nothing gives such weight and 

dignity to a book as an Appendix. 


Herodotus. 



/ 


7/X 


^ W it 





APPENDIX. 


Perhaps some apology to the reader is necessary In view of 
our failure to find Laura’s father. We supposed, from the 
ease with which lost persons are found in novels, that it 
would not be difficult. But it was; indeed, it was impossible; 
and therefore the portions of the narrative containing the 
record of the search have been stricken out. Not because 
they were not interesting—for they were; but inasmuch as 
the man was not found, after all, it did not seem wise to 
harass and excite the reader to no purpose. 


The Authors. 



‘1 


I 



i 

i 


u 



4 


■fK, 

' i* 


i * •If 


r 



% 

» 





9 





I 






•»x 


» 


t 


i 






i 


t • 



I 


























































